


eccedentesiast | iwaoi

by 444RANTARO (orphan_account)



Category: Haikyuu!!, ハイキュー, ハイキュー!, ハイキュー!!
Genre: 70s, 70s tokyo, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Author Is Sleep Deprived, BASICALLY GAY DETECTIVE X STRIPPER, Barely Legal, Bottom Oikawa Tooru, Detective, Detective Iwaizumi Hajime, F/F, Gang Rape, Gangbang, Gay Male Character, Gender Confusion, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Issues, Genderfluid Hinata Shouyou, Heavy Angst, I Blame Tumblr, IWAIZUMI WILL GET A BONER IM JUST NOT TELLING YOU WHEN OR WHERE, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Iwaizumi Hajime is Bad at Feelings, Japan, Japanese Character(s), LITERALLY IM SHIT AT WRITING SLOWBURN SO THEY DONT INTERACT MUCH, M/M, Mafia AU, Making Out, Multi, Murder, Murder Mystery, Non-Consensual Touching, OH YEAH I MADE KAGEYAMA HALF GERMAN SDFKSDDFHO[A, Oikawa Tooru is a Tease, Past Rape/Non-con, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Please Don't Hate Me, Poisoning, Polyamorous Character, Porn with Feelings, Power Bottom, Psychological Trauma, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Sex, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Slow To Update, Stripper Oikawa Tooru, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Tokyo (City), Top Iwaizumi Hajime, Trauma, Yakuza, haikyuu!! - Freeform, haikyuu!!mafia, if i ever dont know what to do i'll kill off everyone and never touch this story again, iwaizumi hajime is sleep deprived, iwaoi - Freeform, people die, tsukkiyama never happens HAHSHAJGAHAJSJ, versatile iwaizumi, versatile oikawa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:02:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25192087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/444RANTARO
Summary: [eccedentesiast: (n.) a person who hides pain or secrecy behind a smile. 'eccedentesiast' comes from Latin' ecce', 'I present to you,' 'dentes,' 'teeth,' and –'iast,' 'performer. ' An eccedentesiast is therefore someone who “performs by showing teeth,” or smiling.]its the late 70's and detective iwaizumi hajime has a case in tokyo, where a gruesome murder has taken place. a mixed strip club has had a strange poisoning, and it seems to be connected to japan's wicked and complex underworld. the suspects all seem equally cynical; but iwaizumi forges an unusual affinity with the most cynical of them all, the lauded host: oikawa tooru.everyone in this story is aged up by at least two years unless stated otherwise.
Relationships: Haiba Lev/Original Female Character(s), Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu/Miya Osamu, Hinata Shouyou/Miya Osamu, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru/Sugawara Koushi, Miya Osamu/Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Shimizu Kiyoko/Original Female Character(s), Shimizu Kiyoko/Yachi Hitoka, Tsukishima Kei/Yachi Hitoka/Yamaguchi Tadashi, Yachi Hitoka/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 3
Kudos: 59





	1. i : pilot chapt. (short)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [BLOOD ON THE PAPER](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/646417) by me // ex@ryhushi. 



> i'm remaking one of my older fanfictions i made on wattpad (handle: @ryhushi if you'd like to check the original out). it used to be called "blood on the paper" but i found that "eccedentesiast" fitted much better with almost every character in this cynically-tainted book. i look forward to hearing about how you enjoy this book and the changes i plan on making. lowercase intended.
> 
> :) q; your not-so-favourite, sleep-deprived, cynical author.
> 
> just if you need some ref.
> 
> iwaizumi hajime: a countryside detective sent to tokyo for a case  
> oikawa tooru: a famous male host at a renounced brothel in tokyo

_"what is hell? i maintain that it is the suffering of being unable to love." -- fyodor dostoevsky [the brothers karamazov.]_

"get these fucking people away from me!" the trembling woman re-positioned her gun with novice dexterity, aiming for iwaizumi's head.  
"they're gone! what else could you possibly want, mrs. ninkovich?" the brunette asked. of course, there were no people in the first place, but even an idiot would know when to be consonant with a schizophrenic, especially one who had a gun aimed at your head. iwaizumi was well over six feet, tall and quite unintentionally intimidating. he donned a simple white shirt, a black office tie, and a plain blazer that was frayed on the elbows. his gelled-back hair and cold-set features added dignity to his bearing. one could tell without hesitation that he was the fastidious type. mrs. ninkovich, on the other hand, was frail, pale-skinned and brittle; she obviously had neither guts nor looks. she looked down at her oversized mary-jane boots and ground at the concrete of the curb in an effort to stomp the dried mud off. at least her eyesore of an overcoat was unsoiled. at last, she looked back up at iwaizumi, her face hard but her eyes unsure and distended.  
"before you kill me. can i tell you how nice your coat is?" iwaizumi gave a smile, though the lines of his simper never reached his eyes; which remained green and inane. the woman's unsure expression enfeebled. she lowered her gun but made sure to keep it still ready by her waist.  
"are you kidding? is this some ploy to make me reconsider my life?"  
"this isn't a _johnny staccato_ life you're living."  
"what a pity."

  
she touched the seams of her coat, somewhat lovingly.  
"it was made by my husband. before he was killed by his friends. they raped me straight after. right in front of his dead body too, because they thought i would get more horny seeing his face. can you imagine?"  
"horrible. really." iwaizumi said.  
"so i killed them. because murder is okay when it's men." she added.  
"oh yes? how indiscriminate."  
"think about how much better the world would be without men." she suddenly shot, only millimetres past iwaizumi's face. the white-hot bullet erecting the hairs upon the boy's face as it passed within fatal proximity. iwaizumi winced in pain, but quickly regained his edge. "i can see that you're clearly a keen misandrist, mrs. ninkovich," he said, through gritted teeth. only now was the effect of the grazing bullet taking effect on iwaizumi. he felt the cold sting from the line of trajectory sear painfully into his skin. iwaizumi grit his fingers into his palm, leaving bloodless crescents in his skin.  
"if truth be told. so i'll end this quickly, here and now." her eyes no longer had frailness, and her whole face frothed with animosity. she shot.

iwaizumi jolted upright in his leather seat, startling himself out of his semiconscious daydream. Friday night by Arabesque hummed sporadically through the jet's speakers. iwaizumi looked around, trying to figure out his surroundings before his memory unpuctually returned. a bizliner, something about tokyo, a brothel maybe? iwaizumi rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "miss." he called, wanly, raising his hand. one of the stewardesses rushed to his aid, leaning forward, ready to comply.  
"you got any painkillers?." iwaizumi asked, scratching his temples as he readjusted his shades to fit over his eyes.  
"sir, the plane's about to land, i don't recommend taking them so close to touchdown. do you want the pills to take on your trip?" The young girl inquired. were they almost there already? damn these new-fangled electronics. "yeah, okay." iwaizumi grumbled, waving his hand at the woman dismissively as she nodded her head, excusing herself.

"iwaizumi hajime, detective?" the intercom crackled overhead,  
"We're on final approach, please fasten your seatbelt."  
iwaizumi straightened, fastening his seatbelt and pulling his trench-coat, from the head of the seat before him and laying it on his lap. from the corner of his eye, the detective could begin to make out the dewy late evening mien of the city. slender silhouettes of neon obelisks and billboards peppered the city like casinos in vegas. the began to propel downwards, and iwaizumi felt his stomach balter within his body for a few moments.  
"oh god." he retched in his throat as the plane shuddered to a halt on the runway and lurched back, before eventually buffering to a final stop.

iwaizumi unsteadily gathered his things after a brief moment and thanked the pilots, before stepping out of the jet's interior and onto the foldout staircase. he wound his scarf around his neck and shouldered on his black trench-coat. in the wind of the shuddering jet, iwaizumi's silk shirt rippled with every step. he curtly tipped his fedora to the stewardess, who handed him a vial of tiny white pills. 'tylenol' it read.  
"two a day should be enough, that's a weeks worth." iwaizumi nodded at her words as he pocketed the vial and smiled at the woman, who flushed red and smiled back.

once off the runway and in the car-park of the airport, iwaizumi tossed astray tousles of hair from his eyes,fitting his yellow-tinted shades upon the bridge of his nose. a quintessential epitome of the modernist japanese Holmes.  
he slung his suitcase over his back, still holding it by the handgrip.  
"ara ara!" a shrill voice reflected against the walls of the empty car-park. from across the tarmac, a younger boy with vivid red hair and pupils so dark they looked like red wine, stood, skinny hands pillowing his head. he looked like a severely sleep-deprived crack addict but iwaizumi figured it was some sort of 'city boy' trend. he gave a grimace as the boy began to lollop forwards.  
"satori tendou, reporting for duty, sir." tendou saluted, bowing with an overly dramatic spin of his bony wrist. iwaizumi gave a small grunt of acknowledgement before gently jarring past the boy. tendou obviously didn't seem to notice the detective’s obvious disinterest in him.  
" _so_. i hear you're a country detective, how _rustic_."   
iwaizumi felt his head tighten.  
the pair eventually reached the egress of the parkade, passing a stanchion that provided route to what seemed to be tokyo's main street. the city was as urban as iwaizumi had imagined -- tall buildings in homogenous patterns, ubiquitous skyscrapers and ever-changing billboards that flashed neon-suited models one second and advertisements for little cartoon figurines the next. cars with long-fenders and dull coats aced between traffic lights, their headlights a blinding bedlam as they hurtled past.  
"here in a modern city like tokyo, we do things a little differently from back home, but since i’m here, i’ll let you be flexible-- but if you need any help-"  
"taxi." iwaizumi hailed, with a brisk motioning of his hand, ignoring the pleasant urge to batter the redhead against one of the lamposts.  
"by the way, love that shirt, old man." tendou espied the detective’s pullover as they both gently cringed in a bow of thanks to the driver, slamming the doors of the cab shut. "silk, isn't it?"  
"yeah. the grandfather's." iwaizumi replied blandly, shaking a marlboro from a pack in his shirt pocket, sticking the head in the corner of his mouth before lighting it with casual finesse. tendou glared at the death-stick sourly for a second.  
"a quitter?" iwaizumi asked, after drawing deeply on his cigarette and holding it between his forefinger and thumb.  
"three years hitherto."  
"you look too young."  
"twenty isn’t young." tendou said acidly.  
iwaizumi expelled a blossoming gauze of smoke and let out a heavy chuckle.  
"i'm assuming you're in on the case. enlighten me, the chief hasn't said a thing to me about this, just sent me hurtling all the way from miyagi to tokyo overnight without anything, i'm walking in there blind as a fucking bat." he said. tendou straightened up a bit upon being asked a question that required his services.  
"poisoning. one of tokyo's most eminent brothels found one of it's regular's drowned in their hotel's bathtub with two wine glasses and a pack of cigarettes by his side." the redhead explained, reminiscently, with avid enthusiasm. iwaizumi stared intently at the coruscating dark lights of the bordello, merely a few blocks before him.

the detective’s cigarette was almost half-finished when he finally spoke.  
"have you identified the poison?"  
"negative, sir. there was hardly anything we could use as evidence from the scene, despite the amount of gauds there."  
"what about fingerprints, on the glasses or the cigarette pack?"  
" _nay_. the unsub was careful."  
"of course they were." iwaizumi said through gritted teeth as his cigarette began to collapse, flitting to the tarmac in ashes.  
"we're here." tendou declared, rolling back his shoulders and sucking brittle air through his teeth.  
"I don’t suppose you have much whore-houses back in the country?" the redhead asked.  
iwaizumi grunted in response, mashing his cigarette in a quick, neat movement.  
" _right_."

tendou had long bounded off and iwaizumi was left standing statuesquely in the doorframe. the hinges squealed as though they were singing a chorus of grim omens; warning the detective, but their plea was silenced by a wall of noise. laughter crushed the jukebox. the vast room was lit in a matte shade of blood-red, and was as harsh as the detective had envisioned. the thick stench of cigarettes hid within the miscellanous collaboration of mephitic odours. the sharp savour of bourbon slithered towards iwaizumi. "a detective?" someone called out. iwaizumi jerked his head to the left, where a silver-haired male stood, a glass of half-empty inebriant in one hand, and a smoke-ribboned cigarette holder in the other. the boy’s thick silver hair laced over ochre-gold eyes, that narrowed, with avid curiosity, upon iwaizumi. he stood with his hip jutted to one side, his left arm that held the bottle, draped across his slender body, and clasping the elbow opposite. an obvious little mole camped under his right eye.  
"here for the murder, i suppose, shame. you’re a hunk." the silver-head chuckled, a wayward sliver of light in his eyes. iwaizumi couldn't help but feel a bit exposed in the boy's line of sight.  
"how'd you tell? that i'm a detective?" iwaizumi asked, knocking his head against the door's frame.

"you look like a damn jew, walking in like that with a trench-coat and a hat, looking like you're about to stand on the bar and start preaching the Torah. the only other explanation is that your a law boy." the silver-haired boy snickered condescendingly.  
iwaizumi raised his eyebrows.

he stepped inside fully, gently rasping shut the ingress, making his way towards the silver-head, who brusquely switched to standing fully on his feet, straightening his back.  
"kōshi sugawara." the boy introduced, extending a nimble left hand after cork-screwing his cigarette against the wall and placing his cigarette holder under the crook of his arm.  
"or as i prefer; _suga_."  
"hajime iwaizumi." the detective replied in turn, shaking the boy's hand.  
"we didn't know what to do with the body. forensics came in yesterday night, said they still had work to do, so now we’ve got a dead body in a bathtub. not that great for business --but we make do." suga explained, taking a depressing swallow of his bourbon.  
"mind if I take a look?" iwaizumi asked, pulling out a cigarette and and lighting it with a matchstick.  
"mm. sure."  
the detective shook out his match, flicking it away and and slipping the cigarette into his mouth. “lead the way.”

"ah. unlucky bastard."  
iwaizumi expelled a ribbon of translucent smoke. he made his way around the room, scrutiny frothing within his brown pupils. a bowl of goldfish stood on a spindly little pedestal in the corner of the dim red-lit room. iwaizumi curiously went over to look at them; the footsteps of his oxfords echoing on the tiles of the bathroom. the fish didn't seem to be remotely traumatised, seeing as they were probably the only witnesses of the murder. iwaizumi moved then, to the bathtub. it's coat was black, and the pool of water that previously surrounded the body, seemed to be drained away, iwaizumi guessed, by the forensic team. the man within was fully clad, lying motionless and quite dead at the bottom of the tub. his eyes were open, and his glasses askew. iwaizumi made sure to stay out of the corpse's line of view; analysing a murder victim's body was one thing, being stared down by it the whole time, was another. the man's pupils seemed to be different sizes -- one, large and black, and the other scarcely a pinpoint. morbid. his clothes weren't stained with anything in particular, just a bit crumpled by dried water. everything seemed perfectly normal. except the dead body.  
_"well, well, well_ , if it isn't the countryside detective, our salvation." a harsh voice sung. iwaizumi straightened as he turned. he caught sight of a scrawny, short male with dark hair, two of his thick bangs tinted blond, adding dignity to his bearing.

"nishinoya." the boy introduced himself, lurching forward and glancing around the room, "i admit that i run this shithole." he stepped into the room, grimacing at the dead body, as if it were ruining his business, which it was.  
"damnit, the press hasn't even found out about this and we're already losing customers." he scowled, pinching a piece of the cloth near the cuff of his shirt and rubbing it back and forth between his fingers.  
"wrong suit for this occasion, no?" nishinoya asked, almost rhetorically.  
"no?" iwaizumi replied, lost.  
" _naw_. this is the east side, old boy. i know they're pretty laissez-fairs about dress in your neck of the woods, but over here; they don't just let yer ass run around in your bathrobe and slippers. unless they're givenchy or something."  
nishinoya didn't seem remotely fazed by the dead body in the bathtub behind iwaizumi, he seemed to be far more interested in the tailor of the detective's overcoat.  
"there's no telling about how or why the things in here happen the way they happen." nishinoya suddenly said, giving a sideways glance at the dead male.  
"i stopped trying to make sense of them a long time ago."  
iwaizumi's interest peaked slightly.  
"you've got my attention."  
"alright. got a cig?"

" _mafia_?"  
"yes, old bean."  
iwaizumi laughed; a humourless little snort.  
"good god." he took a long drag of his cigarette, before expelling it, looking over the dead body.  
"what's this poor chap’s name, anyway?" iwaizumi asked.  
nishinoya took a long, blank look at the body.  
" _shirabu_." he pressed the cigarette to his lips,  
"if memory serves."  
iwaizumi fiddled with his cigarette, placing it atop his thigh and tipping it repeatedly, as if he was thinking.  
"shirabu. huh? this guy was, what? popular?"  
"popular, unpopular: depends on the people you ask." nishinoya replied.  
"he have any regular ... _you know_ … orders?" iwaizumi asked, as if the subject was taboo to his tongue.  
nishinoya bit his lip in thought.  
"that's not really my business, you should ask leon. he runs those kind of things; hostesses and orders, all the juicy stuffs." iwaizumi leaned back, respiring.  
"he here?"  
"just downstairs, runs the second counter next to the entrance. big, lean guy with tan skin, can't miss him." nishinoya replied, inclining from the wall and dusting himself of any dirt.  
"i'll be in the lounge. if you need anything. and i'll let you do what you do, since you're on a bit of a roll."

iwaizumi made his way downstairs, heavy steps making the mahogany floor groan. some hits from home, like 'kobito yo' by mayumi itsuwa were playing jadedly on the jukebox. This place was pretty mellow; the crowded rooms full of idle people mingling with one another. Apart from the dead body upstairs. But we could forget about that for a moment. iwaizumi shrug his body to pull his coat up again. he unwound his scarf while looking around for this 'second counter' and 'big, lean guy with tan skin' that nishinoya had talked about. his eyes landed on a burly guy with beady little eyes, hanging around the bar, drinking sallowly from a glass. iwaizumi made his way towards the male, sliding calmly into the seat beside him.   
"scotch. one, please." iwaizumi said, as the woman behind the counter gave a small nod.  
a few moments of silence passed.  
"leon?" iwaizumi eventually asked, turning to the tan-skinned male. he blinked, "yes?"  
"detective hajime iwaizumi. i'd like to ask you a few questions."  
leon jerked upright, panicked, but iwaizumi fixed the male with a cold, unwavering glare of silent order.  
he relaxed when the woman slid a glass of scotch towards iwaizumi, and the detective gave a small nod of silent thanks and slid over a few yen.  
"now." he turned back to Leon,  
"what can you tell me about shirabu?"  
leon sighed, shifting awkwardly.  
"he was a weird guy. wasn't that popular, i'd say, but he was a regular. always asked for this same guy. didn't seem like they were doing anything particularly ... _you know_ ... either."   
iwaizumi took a long swallow of his scotch.  
"so, who was this person in question? his hostess."  
" _host_." Leon corrected, in a hushed tone.  
"guy was a _twink_." He whispered.  
iwaizumi uncomfortably traced his finger around the rim of his glass.  
"right. so we could be looking for a guy or a girl." he said, more to himself than to Leon.  
"but who was this guy?" he asked, leaning towards the tanned male, keenly.  
leon looked uneasy, glancing around the bar before leaning closer and turning his head towards the main floor where dozens of hosts and hostesses alike were milling around with customers. if this wasn't considered busy, then iwaizumi didn't know what was. leon tipped his head to a corner.  
" _him_."

in the dark of the club, all iwaizumi had seen was his high cheekbones and mischievous eyes. the boy danced like no-one was watching, but of course they all were. he just hadn't cared. he was too perfect. his smile was soft with a hint of femininity, but his strong bone structure was all male. a twink all right.   
"his name?"  
"tooru. oikawa tooru." leon replied in a low tone.  
"he's the biggest slut here but, ya know, every keeps it hush hush. gay oppression and all, right?"   
"uhuh." iwaizumi muttered, his eyes still fixated on the boy. he was at it, chatting with some females, pouring in some red wine and rubbing the glass with his shirt when he suddenly froze mid-stroke. he looked around and towards iwaizumi, as if feeling the detective's eyes on his back, before giving a little smile and resuming his conversation with some of the chicks.   
"he smile at you? you're done, _D_." leon sighed with a wary chuckle, pulling himself off the chair and flexing his fingers.   
"but a little word, _D_. oikawa's hiding something, one time, i walked in on him with pills. he said they were just sleeping pills but naw. _the sleepy stuffs ain't green and pink._ "

  
leon was long gone, over at his counter taking the occasional order and returning to his playboy magazine and raising his eyebrows at the pictures every now and then. iwaizumi rattled the ice cubes at the bottom of his glass, unsure of what to do, where to go next.  
"hey, mormon." a gentle voice said. iwaizumi felt the seat beside him fill. he glanced sideways. it was that kid, the tooru one.  
" _mormon_?" he asked, continuing to absently twirl his glass, the ice cubes melting into cold water now.  
"look at you with that scarf and jacket. it's much too stuffy in here. _take it off_." oikawa chuckled warmly, a light little sound.   
"no." iwaizumi replied, bluntly.

"i have some questions for you." he continued, uniformly.  
"straight to the point, i see." oikawa said, a hint of rousing in his tone.  
"what do you know about shirabu?" iwaizumi continued, flexing his tense forearm.  
oikawa stared at it for a moment.  
"i was his regular, he was mine. we talked." he replied, simply.  
"talked about what?"  
"that's strictly confidential. even if i wanted to tell you, i couldn't. laws are laws, us citizens abide." oikawa sighed, leaning back in his seat, his feet twirling around the bar of the chair.  
"i am the law, you should tell me."  
"can't."  
"but you could." iwaizumi pressed, turning to fully face the brown-haired boy.  
"true, i could, but that would mean i'd be in trouble."  
"i'll take full responsibility. i'm a man." the detective crossed his arms, one elbow resting on the bar's table.  
" _oh yeah?_ that's a pretty pretentious way of saying you want to get laid." oikawa chuckled, leaning to fully face iwaizumi, too.  
"i'm not here for games. there's no telling if the murderer's going to strike again. anyone could be next. you could be next."  
"oh i doubt that." oikawa said, darkly.  
"why? you know something i don't?" iwaizumi asked, a hint of challenge in his tone.  
"what if I do?"  
"i'm with the fucking bureau, you'd have no choice but to tell me."  
"fuck the bureau." oikawa said, pulling out of his seat and placing a thin hand on iwaizumi's shoulder.  
"maybe you should peck for breadcrumbs on a different trail, birdie."  
with that, oikawa ambled away, back to the main floor and immediately got swarmed by females, iwaizumi assumed, were his friends, eager to hear about what had just happened.  
"un- _fucking_ -believable." iwaizumi scowled.

the detective sighed, setting down his fedora and rain-peppered coat over the head of chair. the staff lounge room was cozy enough. the place was like a tomb, illuminated from within by a chill fluorescent light that, by contrast, made made midnight seem colder and grayer than it was. somewhere near the front, a brick-clad fireplace hissed and crackled with warmth. the windows of the lounge room were mist-ridden and blank. the bookshelves, empty carrels, forgotten glasses of almost empty alcohol. but not a soul. iwaizumi went around the corner and saw the orange embers of a burning cigarette somewhere in the darkness of the room.  
in the dim light, a rough-looking male with shoulder-length chestnut hair and a thick eyebrows sat behind a desk reading a copy of ' _watership down_.' his looks definitely contrasted the book he read. the fireplace made a hissing noise as a piece of firewood flung out and landed on the carpet floor. iwaizumi and the boy looked at each other, giving a corresponding nod of greeting to one another. the detective made his way to the second floor of the lounge, walking towards the window seats. they were empty, just as expected, but one of the tables near the front there was an eloquent little nest of thick and thin books alike, a bag of half-eaten crisps and a piece of wadded-up paper.  
iwaizumi, curious, ambled over for a closer look. it had an air of fairly recent abandonment; there was a can of cherry soda, almost finished, still sweating and cool to the touch. For a moment, iwaizumi wondered what to do - perhaps whoever it was had back gone to the main floor and perhaps he'd be back at any second - and iwaizumi was about to leave when his eyes caught the yellowness of the wadded up note. lying on top of a volume of dostoyevsky's ' _crime and punishment_.' the grubby lined paper was folded roughly in half with the name, ' _sugawara_ ' scribbled quickly on the outer edge in someone tiny, crabbed penmanship. iwaizumi glanced around for a moment, before hastily opening the letter and skimming through it:

[ _old pal_  
_bored stiff. gone to tanaka's to get a brewski. c u._  
_S.T :)_ ]

iwaizumi refolded the note and sat down hard on the hard arm of tendou's chair. he looked around, briefly, before picking up 'crime and punishment' from the top stacks of the book and skimming through it. he had, of course, already read this book back when he was in college for a literature dissertation.

  
_'people do get carried away and make mistakes, but one must have indulgence; those mistakes are merely evidence of enthusiasm for the cause and of abnormal external environment.'_


	2. ii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ?? major character death !!
> 
> tooru and iwa bond ;)))

"here, let me get that door for you." nishinoya leaned against the wooden ingress, pushing it open and allowing iwaizumi to enter.  
_"you know,_ i think you'll like this place. not exactly the _shiratorizawa_ lounge, but for tokyo it's not too bad, whaddaya' think?"  
it was a small, minimalistic room; the bed was king-sized with pure white, egyptian cotton sheets. there was a small oak desk, a turntable with a few cd's stacked by its side, and a sprawling black-leather sofa. the bathroom, as well as the power shower, had a bath big enough for a football team, and a small jacuzzi. everything in black marble and handcrafted tiles. a millionaire suite. iwaizumi shuddered to think how much it might cost a night.  
"before you ask, it's all payed for, since you're our honoured guest, in return, you help us. _quid pro quo_." nishinoya backslapped the detective with a grin.  
"clothes and all are downstairs in the washer-room, all set out for you, food is in the buffet room, and of course, our little restaurant is just past it."  
"so, you own the hotel and the brothel?" iwaizumi asked as he set down his things on the sofa.  
nishinoya shook out a cigarette from his pack and lit it with a match, before shaking the stick out.  
"i'm what you'd call an tycoon. business gets better for both sides either way."

iwaizumi made his way to the vinyl records beside the turntable and began flipping them over, skimming through the names.  
"this is a great place." nishinoya said, settling into the arm of a chair and looking out the window at the lit-up obelisks and neon-esque of midnight tokyo.  
"it's nice." iwaizumi replied, still reading the records.  
"but not the _shiratorizawa_." nishinoya exhaled a long trail of smoke from the corners of his lips. he raked some of his bicoloured hair from his eyes.  
"you ever go there? _shiratorizawa_ , i mean." nishinoya asked.  
" _mm_ , no." iwaizumi had never even heard of it, which was perhaps understandable as it was about four-hundred miles from here and even further from miyagi.  
"seems like the kind of place you'd go with your first cherry-popper and your mates." nishinoya said, somewhat pensively. he flicked some of his burned cigarette into the clean ashtray beside the table.  
"for man-to-man talks, serious hostess shit. father took me and my brothers there for my eighteenth birthday for my first drink and all." nishinoya reflected reminiscently.  
"was it any good?"  
"the best of the best. i thought of them as a rival but that place is like a empyrean for the gods. no way we'd compete. especially with a dead body in the bathroom."  
iwaizumi placed the records back and sighed.  
"brothers?" he asked nishinoya, he was an only child, other people's siblings interested him.  
"how many?"  
nishinoya tilted his head,  
" _three_. daichi, sugawara and asahi." he laughed.  
"sugawara?" iwaizumi said, mildly startled.  
"doesn't he work here?"  
"one of the hosts. you know." nishinoya twisted the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray and watched the last of its smoke tendrils fade away.  
"and asahi, he's one of the bouncers."  
"and the other one?"  
"he doesn't work here. a prospector, doing a mélange of stuffs, searching for mineral deposits and jewels, all that farrago. almost wealthier than me. it was terrible when father took me, to the lounge, i mean. it was such a big thing, and he was all "here son, have your first drink" and "won't be long before you're sitting in my place" and "probably, i'll be dead soon, with cachexy or something" all that kind of junk. all that time, i was scared stiff, boy, about a month before, my buddy tanaka, runs a little liquor business downtown now, had come up from shibuya for the day to work on some dissertation at the library, something about marketing. anyway, we'd run up a huge bill at shiratorizawa and slipped off without paying. you know, boyish spirits and all, but there i was again, the next month, with my father." nishinoya chuckled, crossing his arms.  
"did they recognise you?"  
"yep." nishinoya replied, grimly. "knew they would. but for some reason, they were pretty decent about it. didn't rat or anything, just tacked the old bill onto father's. fuckin' stiff people."

iwaizumi tried to picture the scene: a drunken old father, in some rich suit, swishing his scotch or whatever he drank, around in a glass. and nishinoya. he looked a little bonier and gaunter. a thin boy, the sort who played golf on high school. and the kind of kid every father would secretly want: small and good-natured, not awfully bright, fond of board games, gifted at backslapping and corny jokes.  
"did he notice?" iwaizumi said, "your dad?"  
" _naw_. he was like brahms and liszt. totally fried. we all drunk an awful lot that night."  
nishinoya pulled himself up off the arm of the chair.  
"well, well, i'm wasting your time, i'm going to head out, settle in an' all, and if you wanna get to the brothel quicker, just tell the waiter at the front: 'givenchy, not gucci.'"  
"not gucci? not a fan?"  
"i hate gucci."  
"you do?" iwaizumi said, glancing up from his reverie. " _really_? i think it's rather grand."  
" _come on_ , iwaizumi. well, it's so expensive, but it's so ugly too, isn't it? what do you think, do you think they make it ugly on purpose? people just buy that crap out of sheer perversity. i don't see what you think is ' _grand_ ' about that." nishinoya let out a dry chuckle.  
"just say that to the waiter and he'll let you through the back entrance. saves walking all the blocks around." with that, nishinoya shimmied himself into his puce-coloured overcoat and tipped his hat to iwaizumi.  
"gotta rest. big day of cross-examination tomorrow, _no_?"

on monday, about four in the morning. the rotary phone on the wall began ringing tumultuously. nishinoya had asked for iwaizumi to come down immediately. the detective rushed out, pulling on his black trench-coat as he trodded down the stairs. he reached the reception desk and mumbled the "code-word" in humiliation, as the waiter led him down to a speakeasy-like room and allowed iwaizumi to walk through a door that would apparently lead directly to the dumpster area of the brothel. iwaizumi rattled the exit door shut and made to open the next door in front of him when he heard a little noise. sitting atop one of the dumpsters was oikawa, a cigarette hanging loosely between his lips with tendrils of translucent smoke escaping through the tip.  
"detective." he said, swinging his legs lightly. he wore the same outfit as yesterday: a loose, white shirt, a pair of black, worn trousers and a thin overcoat.  
" _tooru_." iwaizumi acknowledged.  
"wanna smoke?"

the pair sat atop the dumpster, oikawa shaking a cigarette from a pack in his shirt pocket and handing it carefully to iwaizumi. the detective took a hold of the end and stuck the cigarette in the corner of his mouth. "here."  
oikawa took out a match, raked it against the box and placed it to the unlit end of iwaizumi's cigarette. the embers glowed a moment or two, and iwaizumi glanced at oikawa, who's chestnut eyes were bright with the flame on the match before them. the boy leaned away, swatting the end of the match away, somewhere into the alleyway and then returning to place his own cigarette into his mouth. iwaizumi leaned back, one hand behind him for support as he sat upon the lid of the dumpster. he took a look down the alleyway. the dingy and mephitic empty path between the backs of the restaurants and the theatres where one could stretch their arms and touch the homes on both sides.  
" _so_." oikawa suddenly said, through the morose silence. the only noise besides them was the occasional dripping of the gutter and some streetcars from a few blocks away.  
"how are you?"  
iwaizumi exhaled a tendril or smoke and rasped a bit.  
"not bad." he said. " _you_?"  
"fine."  
oikawa knocked the ash off of his cigarette and placed it between his fingers as he leaned back on his arms.  
"why are you up so early? detective business?" he asked, turning his head to face the boy.  
" _mm_. what about you?"  
"no reason. just for a smoke."  
" _escapism_?"  
"you smoke for escapism, _i smoke to die._ " oikawa replied, with no inflection whatsoever.  
"right."

a few more minutes of gutter-dripping and cat-yowling passed.  
"found anything new?" oikawa then asked.  
"not much. just useless leads."  
"how'd you know they're useless?"  
"they just lead to other leads. like a big ball of yarn." iwaizumi yawned, curbing it with his forearm.  
"but balls of yarn end. eventually. just gotta keep pulling on the string. you know?" oikawa leapt off the dumpster in a fluid movement, landing neatly on his feet.  
"you got any new information. tell me." he said, in a cool voice, taking a last draw on his cigarette then grounding it out with a deliberate, corkscrewing movement.  
"but i'll tell you something." oikawa leaned in towards iwaizumi, his airy brown hair falling in his face. he had a placid, secretive expression. "nishinoya's got an awful lot of cash around. especially in the two last or three weeks."  
iwaizumi, too, ground the head on his cigarette onto the wall behind him, leaning into the brown-haired boy.  
"what do you mean?" he said, sharply.  
"you know nishinoya. he's rich as it is. lately thought, he's had all this money. like, a lot. maybe daichi sent it to him or something, but you can be damn sure he didn't get it from the brothel. or the hotel, either. he's started buying all this stuff for the club: poles, more drinks, lights and all. not like him."  
there was a long silence. iwaizumi bit his lip.  
"what are you trying to get at?"  
"i'm sure nishinoya's told you about tokyo's other side." oikawa leaned away. iwaizumi didn't like how he had said other side. like it was some kind of unspoken taboo.  
"look, i'll see you later. got to dash." oikawa raked his hair from his face and gave a small smile as he wound a scarf around his neck and pulled on his jacket that lay upon the dumpster lid. with a small nod of silent disperse, oikawa left, ambling down the alleyway before making a left. iwaizumi exhaled, gently stepping off the dumpster and shuffling into his coat again, taking a last, morose glance at the dripping gutter.

iwaizumi gently opened the backdoor to the bordello, furtively stepping in and shutting it behind him. there were a few voices from inside the lounge.  
"we can't go on much longer." a voice said. iwaizumi frowned, it was nishinoya. the detective hung up his coat on the hanger and made for the lounge door.  
"what can we do?" another voice said. nishinoya coughed, a rasping, catarrhal noise, like he'd been ill.  
"i don't know. except the people say he's been missing now for seventy-two hours, and it'll start to look funny if we don't act worried pretty soon."  
iwaizumi leaned on the door with his shoulder, opening it with a little squeal. three men, one of which was nishinoya, sat circled around a table in the lounge, with an ashtray, dozens of half-burned cigarettes and uneaten plates of bacon and eggs. " _christ_ , what a week." another man said, this one had an almost bald head and wide eyes. iwaizumi was out of his line of vision. nishinoya glanced at the detective and cleared his throat discreetly as he chugged the lasts of his scotch and turned on his seat to face iwaizumi. the bald male craned his neck around the other boy and looked at the detective.  
"iwaizumi. i trust you slept. a bit at least. sorry a bunch for waking you up this early." nishinoya rummaged in his pocket for a cigarette and tossed it to iwaizumi, who caught it calmly and lit it.

  
"did you hear us?" nishinoya asked as iwaizumi made his way towards the table. his eyes looked sleepy and inscrutable. they were deep-set and half-ringed in a puce colour.  
" _mm_." iwaizumi grunted.  
"good lord.", the bald male took a guilty swallow of his drink.  
"what a nightmare. i can't imagine what you think of us, detective."  
"it doesn't matter, much." iwaizumi replied, without thinking.  
" _tanaka_. i run the liquor store, just down the street." he stretched a gloved hand to iwaizumi, who shook it gently.  
"iwaizumi." he replied.  
"tanaka's a good friend of mine. remember that story i told you, last night, i mean."  
iwaizumi tried to remember. something about nishinoya and tanaka forgetting to pay a bill.  
" _mm_."  
iwaizumi let a small coil of smoke snake through his dark lips as he stared out at the window behind the bar, the whole, unlit room, tinted with the gloomy, dull greyness of four in the morning.

iwaizumi had forgotten about the third boy; a male, taller than the rest, with hair that was like that of a mop of blond strands, that framed his scrutinising eyes which were a shade of brown so light that they came off as gold. he wore a thin-framed pince-nez thats rims were tinted a light blonde, the same colour as his hair. the boy peered at iwaizumi over his spectacles, and iwaizumi couldn't help but think the boy was sizing him up by the clothes he wore, as if iwaizumi were nothing more to him but a typical american cop. a holmes wannabe.  
"ah, yes, forgot to introduce the man, _tsukishima kei_. the real thing, author and all." nishinoya leaned over the table to pick out a piece of bacon on tsukishima's untouched plate.  
"you're not eating that are you, pal?"  
tsukishima didn't respond.  
nishinoya took the bacon regardless, gorging down the strip and continuing to talk.  
"you've read the book, right, _'obejct of desire'?_ "  
iwaizumi gave a brief nod. he'd read the book back in college for a dissertation. this tsukishima guy was pretty old, wasn't he?  
" _quis est, amans in homine?_ ' tsukishima suddenly asked.  
"what?"

"nothing."  
the blond male transferred his cigarette to his left hand and offered the right for a shake.  
iwaizumi warily shook it.  
"strange days." tsukishima then said, placing the cigarette back in his mouth and dragging it till smoke steamed through his nostrils.  
"undeniably." iwaizumi replied.  
"any new findings, old pal?" nishinoya asked, turning in his seat to face the detective.  
"not much, just a few haphazard leads."  
tsukishima ground the head of his cigarette into the ashtray, the embers smouldering momentarily.  
"maybe some advice, detective, when in a room of animals, never trust the snake and the rat between its teeth." he pulled himself out of his chair and buttoned up his overcoat.  
the room was silent. iwaizumi could hear the beat of the rain against the window, like eddie torres and his dancing feet. the pitiless beads fell, steadily, with a fierce malignity that was all too human. nishinoya cleared his throat, leaping nimbly off his chair and winding on the sashes of his deep purple bathrobe.  
"right, well." he started, before coughing harshly again.  
"caught a cold, pal?" iwaizumi asked, corkscrewing his cigarette into the ashtray.  
"of course not. we don't get colds around here." nishinoya chuckled.  
"i'm sure."

" _stoned_?" oikawa cackled as merlot hollowly gurgled into his glass.  
"doubtless."  
iwaizumi set his glass to a side, steepling his fingers in thought.  
"well, i guess this place doesn't really have a thing against sinsemilla." the detective muttered sagaciously as he looked around the half-empty brothel. he turned back, looking down at the bar counter.  
"there's only one main dealer around here." oikawa said, as he made his way back from around the counter with a glass of red wine, sitting down, and raking a hand through his hair before tipping his head back to take a sip of his merlot.  
"who is?"  
"well, _sugawara of course_."  
iwaizumi leaned forward on his seat, fingers still steepled.  
" _no way_. but he's nishinoya's _brother_." he said in bitter awe. oikawa's lips curled at the ends,  
"all the better. disco biscuits, coke, some new stuff from europe, " _crack cocaine_ " they call it. sugawara sells all the farrago." the brown-haired boy explained. there was another long silence.  
"nishinoya has no business being mixed up in something like that." he took another long swallow of his drink. "anyway," oikawa continued, "that's why i'm a bit worried."  
iwaizumi frowned. "i'm afraid i don't follow."  
oikawa's tongue flicked over his lips as he leaned left, giving a small jerk of his head with a long sigh.  
"this was a bad mistake, i guess, but i let nishinoya ride downtown to the suburbs with me a couple weeks ago, just to get some drinks for the bar."  
"and?"

"i don't know. i don't think he knew about sugawara's dealings, at least i thought he didn't, but anyway, we ran into him, and nishinoya suddenly gets out the car and goes up to suga and says 'give me all the money back' or something. like they'd already talked before."  
"you don't think he went down there by himself?" said iwaizumi.  
"i don't know, i sure hope not, tokyo ghetto's the home of hobos and debauchers. all the freaky deekies." oikawa replied, placing his glass to a side and resting his face on the heel of his palm.  
"so you've been there?" iwaizumi asked, leaning close.  
"i didn't _say_ that." oikawa sneered, with a sly grin.  
"but why would nishinoya have any business there? he didn't strike me as a type who'd do pickups and fillips?"  
"frankly." oikawa leaned away and wiped his forehead with the heel of his thumb.  
"it seems like just the type of stupid shit that nishinoya would do."  
there was an absence of noise for a few moments.  
iwaizumi looked up at his empty glass, watching the light of the club's wall lamp filter through it.  
"you said he demanded money back. he couldn't have gotten anything if he was the one who needed money in return." he inferred.  
"right. so, _what_? nishinoya gave something to his brother and demanded payment?" oikawa said, with a flick of his hand.  
"probably. that's the most reasonable fit."  
there was a bitter silence before iwaizumi spoke again.

"that's kind of strange. demanding money back. didn't you say that nishinoya had a shitload of green before?"  
"yeah. that's what i was thinking, why he'd ask for more money if he already had it."  
the pair bit their lips in thought.  
"well, it's not that strange if you think about it. he said he wanted all the money back. that means he gave money to sugawara, but then decided he... wanted it back? maybe suga had asked for the green to do something important, on the spot? and nishinoya said he needed payment in return, eventually, you know? like a loan. so he gave some to his dear brother, who went down to tokyo with a couple hundred, right? i mean, maybe nishinoya had asked suga to go back home, empty his bank account and come back with all he had, in return? but you two ran into him early? too early for him to get the money?"  
"that's quite a far-fetched hypothesis, detective. but as far as i know, sugawara stores all his money in a safe. he doesn't have a bank account."  
" _that you know of_." iwaizumi pointed out.  
"you're perfectly right." said oikawa.  
"can't you just go and ask some of sugawara's clients to get in touch with him? you probably know them, seeing as you've talked to suga before." iwaizumi said.  
"i didn't say that i have directly. but i can't just ask clients for their dealer's information, that's suspicious, they'll think i'm some undercover boy in blue. even so, sugawara's clients are unlisted. and neither of them hand out business cards, all right?" oikawa replied, with a scowl.  
"then how would one get in touch with suga, without, of course, confronting him directly, which would be the last course of action."  
"you'd have to call a third guy."

"then call him." said iwaizumi calmly,  
"they're not gonna tell me anything." oikawa whined.  
"i thought they were good chums of yours?"  
"what do you think? you think these guys are running some boy scouts troop, selling cookies? these are real guys. real shit. _mafia_." oikawa said, in a dead serious tone.  
iwaizumi felt laughter rising in his throat, but he held it back, managing to turn them into a theatrical battery of coughs, hiding his face behind his hand.  
"yeah. _mafia_. nishinoya already enlightened me. so what do you suggest we do?"  
oikawa thought for a moment.  
"i mean, we could always get into nishinoya's or sugawara's room, in the hotel, see if they have any sus things?"  
iwaizumi rubbed his eyes with his index and forefinger, sighing.  
"damnit, tooru, this isn't ' _murder on the orient express._ '"  
"well yeah. but we could give it a try." oikawa urged.  
"are their rooms locked?"  
"yeah. once, i tried to get an extra pack of lights from nishinoya's room but it was locked tight and when he saw me trying to get in he burst out in this huge fit, like he was mad pissed."  
" _i wonder why_." iwaizumi said, darkly.  
"well, it wouldn't be very hard to get in, in spite of that. would it?" the detective continued, as oikawa looked up at him with newfound avidity:  
"no. it wouldn't."  
"there's the ground-floor windows in the hotel. nishinoya's bathroom window is one of them. the storm windows were taken off recently. i think." iwaizumi deduced, as oikawa watched him.  
"i know i could handle downstairs, cause a bit of a ruckus." he added.  
the pair stared at each other for a moment.  
"maybe. i should go and take a look around the building." iwaizumi said.  
"i'll go with."

iwaizumi looked wary, biting the inside of his mouth, before sighing.  
"fine." he tossed off the rest of his drink into a nearby plant pot.  
"by the way. oikawa. how on earth did you get mixed up in something like this?" iwaizumi asked as he left a small wad of yen on the table.  
oikawa laughed condescendingly,  
"no idea," he said. "you gotta meet these guys on their own ground. i don't take their fillips or anything. not that they don't try to give you shit. i know how these guys work. sugawara and nishinoya probably just think it's playing around with money and pills." oikawa pulled on his overcoat and wound up his scarf. his eyes were calm and casual but they looked somewhat distant.  
"it's best we keep this all under wraps. this city's like a yarn of string. you let your mouth slip and suddenly the whole place knows. can't risk that. especially with snakes everywhere."  
_snakes_.

* * *

"and i'm in the middle of a sentence when all of a sudden, he just grabs my thigh. just like that." nishinoya made a gabby clasp at his own thigh in an attempt to recreate the scene.  
"—just like a much- _too_ -firm two, three second, grab."  
iwaizumi made a noise of feigned interest.  
" _honestly_. closets these days. no sense of self-privilege. i mean i support the gays and all. but come on, don't grab me like that, you know? invasion of privacy and all?"  
iwaizumi nodded, as nishinoya took a handful of gold coins and dropped them onto the table. "pot's not right." he said, before continuing.  
"so. any ... _you know_ , progress? in the case, i mean?" nishinoya leaned forward, across the poker table.  
iwaizumi dug some holed chips and flattened pennies out of his pockets and tossed them onto the table before nishinoya.  
"pot's right." he replied, blankly.

defaced currency against gold. the pot was indeed right.  
"damnit pal." nishinoya cursed, with a grimace.  
iwaizumi turned, swiping a match alight and hovering it at the end of his cigarette, waiting for the butt to ember.  
"you avoided my question. how's the case?" nishinoya asked again. iwaizumi shook out the match and exhaled a trail of smoke.  
"i've got a lead." he simply replied.  
nishinoya's eyes narrowed, as he, too, shook out a marlboro from his pack and lit it.  
"so? _shoot_." he said, chewing lightly on his cigarette.  
iwaizumi switched his cigarette to his left hand.  
"apparently there's some..." he made a waving gesture with his hand, causing ribbons of smoke to hang in the air with each movement.  
"some narcotic hodgepodge." he finished.  
nishinoya tensed, leaning away.  
"drugs? _here?_ i'm afraid you're mistaken. drugs are only down in the ghetto."  
"or so you think." iwaizumi pointed out, aiming the butt of his glowing cigarette at nishinoya's face.  
"aye." the boy replied, dejectedly.  
"know anything about that?" iwaizumi asked, flicking the poker chips with his middle finger and thumb.  
nishinoya chuckled, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt.  
"not really, no."  
iwaizumi leaned away from the table, sighing.

"no one around here seems to know a thing. for such a big city."  
nishinoya chuckled again, quicker and bitterer this time, as his scratched the tip of his nose brusquely,  
"honestly." he replied, before taking a long, terse, drag of his cigarette.  
"anyway. who- what made you come to that conclusion? drugs, i mean." nishinoya asked, curtly, tipping the ash off his cigarette.  
iwaizumi thought for a moment.  
'we should keep this under wraps. _you know_.' oikawa had said.  
the boy raked a hand through the sides of his gelled hair.  
"no one, really. the power of deduction, i guess." iwaizumi replied, incisively.  
nishinoya nodded.  
"yes, yes, you being a detective and all. holmes incarnate." the boy said with a vigorous undertone.  
"you know about the dealer, then?" he chirped.  
" _what dealer?_ "  
nishinoya tensed.  
"oh no, i just, assumed there was someone dealing. obviously." he pressed the cigarette to his lips pithily.  
"yes." iwaizumi muttered, taking a heavy breath of his own smoke.  
"well. it was a nice game, pal." nishinoya said, with an ear-to-ear grin, walking over to the detective and slamming a hand into his back, vigorously.  
"let's play again, and next time i'll win." he flicked his cigarette into an ashtray by the door and left with a small bow.

innumerable stars flecked the early-morning empyrean, like those flying off a rogue brush. drugs, iwaizumi thought, it always comes down to shit like this.  
he sat upon the window sill; one leg over his thigh and holding the ankle. iwaizumi sighed to himself, turning and unfolding his legs as he stepped down from the sill, beginning to pace around his hotel room, his features relapsing into a taciturn mask.  
sugawara had a flip-life outside the brothel, where he dealt narcotics, nishinoya had suddenly obtained shedloads of cash, the brothers seemed to be needing something from one another; nishinoya wanting money back, and sugawara wanting money for something else ...?  
for an instant, iwaizumi felt nettled at the abstruseness of it all, there was the lightest shadow of a snub, an insult to his forte. the inability to not know anything. he'd competently deciphered tens, hundreds, even, of drug instances, but none of them were as inexorably cryptic as this case. there didn't seem to be anything particularly riveting about it either, it was so simple yet so obscure that iwaizumi hated it.  
there was a small knock at the door, a little thump.  
iwaizumi frowned, running a hand through his matted hair as he warily made his way to the front, taking a glance through the door-hole, seeing the fish-eyed face of tendou, iwaizumi's 'travel guide'.

the detective rattled the doorknob, and rasped the door open.  
"hey sir." tendou said, saluting with his bony wrists and wild eyes.  
iwaizumi sighed, making his way to the small counter where his at-home kitchen was. tendou made his way to the sofa and slumped down: one leg over his thigh and his arms folding behind his head like a pillow.  
"yes. make yourself at home." iwaizumi muttered as he set a kettle on its stand.  
"coffee?" he asked.  
" _tea_." the boy replied.  
a few minutes of silence passed, only filled with the gurgling bubble of the boiling water.  
"why the sudden intrusion?" iwaizumi then asked, as he rasped open the refrigerator, extracting a half-open carton of milk and setting the ring of the plug to his parched lips.  
tendou let a tense breath out, leaning forward and letting his hands fall.  
"another death."  
iwaizumi paused, a globule of milk escaping the corner of his lip and dribbling to the tiled floor.  
"who is it?" the dreaded question: iwaizumi felt his brain wrack for answers before the reply came. an answer his psyche paled at.  
"nishinoya."

there was a horrible, erratic thumping in iwaizumi chest, as if a large bird was trapped inside his ribcage and beating itself to death.  
layers of acetous silence upon silence wracked the room, louder than any bedlam. the air tasted bitter and acidic, and iwaizumi noticed that his knuckles showed white, as if his fist was tightly clenched.  
"how- how did he die?" the detective asked, in an undertone, his fingers clenching the edge of the counter.  
"we found potassium cyanide in his drink."  
iwaizumi's fingers dug deeper into the counter, before slipping off the marble surface.  
the teakettle began to whistle.

iwaizumi moved across the room like his leg had fallen asleep, his face a taciturn, sour grimace.  
he placed a cup of a liquid before tendou. the coffee rested upon the table; it was white, and so the disordered splashes became an impromptu work of lachrymose art.  
"thanks." tendou said, cupping the mug and turning, using his hand to shield his mouth reverently as he raised the cup in a small tip to take a swallow.  
iwaizumi clenched his fists together, in a ball-like shape as his fingers intertwined in solemn contemplation. his gyokuro tea sat on the table, the air on top of it a morphing haze.  
"was he at home?"  
tendou shook his head.  
"at the brothel. like he always is."  
"was anyone else there?"  
"just a few customers, but none of them were around nishinoya."  
"does the brothel have a vcr? or surveillance in general?" iwaizumi asked, his thigh bouncing lightly in anticipation.  
"i think so. there's a few vcr's, since it's quite a new thing, the brothel started using them two months ago." tendou replied, setting down his empty coffee cup.  
"could you bring them over. so i can review them?" iwaizumi asked.  
"sure. do you need any help? reviewing them?" tendou asked, swiping his moist lip with his forearm.  
"no." iwaizumi replied brusquely.

the detective pulled his tweed overcoat on, the elbows frayed with age and the buttons undone. he didn't bother to fix his hair, letting it sit in a matted mess upon his head. the sky outside was a widow's sky. tenebrous and weeping. the churlish clouds were moving towards tokyo, the zephyr breeze was overtaken by a howling one. iwaizumi tried to close the door to the hotel's exit, instead, it slammed shut thunderously with the wind's unneeded assistance. he passed through the dumpster alley and pried open the brothel's exit door, shaking his leather ankle boots of a stray bin-bag before entering.

as he closed the door, an unearthly caterwauling sound filled the air behind the metal exit. the wind had whipped up into frenzy, now a shrieking, keening omen of the carnage to follow. iwaizumi crossed the threshold of the brothel, peering prudently around the corner of the wall before entering. the air was stiff with a veneer of unease. sugawara, oikawa, asahi, the female hostesses, some other males, and tsukishima stood around a table, solemnly. the stench of cigarettes suffused the room, iwaizumi, despite his rigid tolerance to smoke, still felt his eyes blear painfully.

oikawa was the first to notice iwaizumi's presence, turning brusquely. his eyes were barely open and ringed with intense swells of insomnia.  
"iwa-chan." he mumbled, grounding the head of his cigarette into the ashtray.  
iwaizumi made his way to the somber table, setting down his coat on the bar counter.  
" _why is he here?_ " a voice said. one of the females.  
"he's the detective. in charge of the case." oikawa replied blandly.  
" _he_ hasn't done shit." a male muttered.  
"nishinoya's _dead_." another scowled.  
the room was choked with unspoken enmity and hostility.  
iwaizumi cleared his throat, leaning forward.  
he had gotten cynical criticism thrown at him before.  
"this was... _a_..." he looked around the room, irritated faces, sympathetic faces, piqued faces, all louring back at him. "...a truly unexpected change of course. i recently obtained a bona fide lead on the case, so this is definitely a setback." wrong choice of words. the leering in the room grew more hostile. iwaizumi sneered at himself.  
"not that nishinoya's death, per se, was a setback, i'm sure that as we advance through this case, we will exact retribution for his and shirabu's premature departures." iwaizumi said. oikawa relaxed, exhaling a gentle sigh as the room seemed to compose itself somewhat.  
"i'd like you to raise your hand if you were present at the time nishinoya was ..." iwaizumi thought for a moment.  
"... _murdered_."

the room was thickly perfused with mutterings and sotto voce remarks.  
"and then what?"  
"he just fell. slumped forward. _dead and all_." the woman said. she had a thick accent, curled at the ends of every word, like a bostonian.  
"and you're absolutely sure that no one was near him?" iwaizumi asked, fingers steepled and jaw set hard.  
the blonde woman shook her head, her straggly gypsy string earrings oscillating with each movement.  
"no sir."  
iwaizumi sighed, placing his forehead between his clenched, intertwined fists.  
" _dammit_."  
"but i'll tell you what. he looked like he was waiting for someone." the woman added as she prepared to leave.  
"i've plenty experience waiting for my purchaser. he looked just like that. tense and all." she hissed in an undertone.

the day seemed to pass with all possible haste, yet the rataplan of the rain lingered. iwaizumi sighed, fingering the button of his coat as he delved into his thoughts.

( _"waiting for my purchaser. he looked just like that. tense and all."_  
_"he ordered a different drink than usual."_  
_"can you believe it? two murders in under a week?"_  
_"-and the bastard's still out there."_ )

  
iwaizumi slammed a fist into the table, gritting his teeth as he muffled a groan of vexation.  
he rested his head in his hands. what a night. it was either someone dying or his own personal plights. iwaizumi just needed an unbroken night and he'd be a new boy.  
"hey, _mormon_." a familiar voice said.  
iwaizumi felt thin fingers set on the taut muscle of his shoulders and begin swathing in tough, deep circles.  
"o-oikawa." he mumbled.

it started with a shoulder massage that loosened up iwaizumi's rigid, stress-ridden muscles and prepared him for the ultimate indulgence of escapism. iwaizumi had gone to masseuses before, back in america and miyagi, but none of their gentle, sloppy hand-movements never relieved him. yet oikawa's deep-set, harsh style of effleurage immediately subdued him.  
"you're all sinew." oikawa said. his voice was husky and sounded like gravel.  
iwaizumi grunted in response. the boy continued to roll the detective's shoulders back and massage the muscles just below his collarbone.  
"you've done this before?" iwaizumi asked, surprised at the boy's nimble virtuoso.  
"this technique combines swedish massage, acupressure, and deep strokes along your muscles. a lot of holders request reflexology and massage. i guess i learned it somewhere along the way." oikawa replied, ebbing his thin fingers perfectly along the sinews of iwaizumi's shoulders.  
the jukebox hummed a pleasant song, 'i don't want to set the world on fire.'  
iwaizumi tilted his head back, curiously, watching oikawa's pensive features quirk with each swathe of his hand, as if every movement amused him.  
his eyes glinted a chestnut brown in the balmy light of the brothel's lamps. the rain was still heavily torrenting outside, and for a moment, everything seemed homespun.  
"what is it?" oikawa asked.  
"do you ever get your dreams mixed up with real life?" iwaizumi said, setting his face on the heel of his palm and staring at the rippling surfaces of the wine bottles on their shelf.

the rain seemed to fall harder for a few moments, before oikawa replied.  
"sometimes we imagine things because we miss them so terribly."  
the jukebox crackled as the next song came on. a lachrymose, sedate tune.  
"what do you miss so terribly?" iwaizumi asked as oikawa's fingers moved up to his terse neck.  
"philosophy." he replied.

" _philosophy?_ "  
"yes. you know, _questions_. like who built the seven gates of thebes? and babylon, being destroyed so many times, who kept building it up? rome is full of arches, and who erected them?" oikawa continued, somewhat passionately. iwaizumi chuckled lightly as the brown-haired boy gently hit the back of his head.  
"what?" oikawa scowled with a small grin.  
"quite the philosopher, i see." iwaizumi said, crossing his leg over the other.  
"right? i'm like a bond movie, except shitty and kind of sad." oikawa laughed, playing with the matted tips of iwaizumi's hair as he talked.  
"you're so odd. a host one minute, and a philosopher the next." the detective sighed, feeling himself smile for the first time in a while.  
"i'm an extremely keen kleptomaniac in my spare time." oikawa pointed out.  
"a _kleptomaniac?_ good lord."  
"if i explained why, i'm afraid you'd have an existential crisis."  
"bold of you to assume."  
the pair lurched forward with laughter.  
"you're an enigma." iwaizumi eventually sighed.  
"not as much as tsukishima, i hope."  
"god no."  
"boy, i can't wait to murder him." oikawa whined.  
iwaizumi paused.  
"kidding. you know. _like a clown_." the brown-haired boy whispered.

a few more minutes of pleasant silence passed.  
" _gosh_ , what are you doing with my hair?" iwaizumi suddenly asked upon feeling a tug on the roots of his scalp.  
"ssh, stop fussing, i'm braiding it." oikawa replied, his nimble fingers weaving through the detective's matted hair like a child to her doll.  
"hey, stop! i've got things to do." iwaizumi sighed, trying to pull himself out of the bar stool.  
"stop, stop! i'm almost done!" oikawa carped, still winding his fingers through iwaizumi's hair as the detective got up.  
"look what you did. my fingers are stuck." oikawa grinned.  
iwaizumi gritted his teeth to withhold a smile.  
"good god, of course they are." he sighed.

"look, _iwa-chan_. i'm stuck." oikawa giggled childishly, pulling himself along as iwaizumi moved to pick up his jacket.  
"oikawa." the detective said, in a gently warning tone.  
"god, you're a dick." oikawa sneered.  
"ditto," iwaizumi pointed out as he took a step back.  
"you stepped on my foot!" the brown-haired boy shrieked quietly, leaping around on his left foot.  
"you did that on purpose." he scowled as iwaizumi suppressed a small smile.  
"keep following me and i'll seriously step the fuck out of you." iwaizumi retorted, switching off the brothel's lights.  
"it's raining!" oikawa whined.  
"yes, thank you sherlock." iwaizumi sneered.  
"but i have to take the train." the boy said.

"oh god, it's an absolute _shithole_."  
" _evidently_." iwaizumi scowled, kicking off his ankle boots and throwing his overcoat across the sofa's head.  
"god. i'm being annoying aren't i?" oikawa sighed, falling onto the sofa and settling his head atop the armrest and crossing his feet on the other.  
"evidently." the detective replied.  
"can i have a cigarette?" oikawa asked, tipping his head back to look at the boy, who grunted in response and shook out a smoke, flicking it into oikawa's lap.  
"i'll leave tomorrow, _promise_." the brown-haired boy announced as he lit his cigarette and exhaled.  
"shame it has to end." iwaizumi sneered wryly.  
" _but end it must_." oikawa sighed theatrically, flicking his hands up and pouting.  
"you can sleep on the couch," iwaizumi said, as he set the cavity of a half-full bottle of white wine to his lips and began guzzling.  
" _uhuh_." oikawa mumbled.  
"-also there's some rice in the fridge."

the rain's patter was swiftly taken over by the baying whine of the wind.  
iwaizumi's pleasantly yellow room light was still running.  
there was a fumble outside his room door.  
" _iwa-chan_." oikawa sang, lurching off the cold leather of the sofa. iwaizumi sighed into his hand.  
a door opened. then another.  
" _iwa-chan_! where are you my little _holmes_?" he chirped, louder.  
"oh dear." iwaizumi scowled, dropping his pen into the small stationary holder and standing up.  
"i'm in here." he called, as the footsteps grew nearer to the door:  
oikawa soon appeared, his white sleeves rolled up just above his elbow, and the top most of his shirt unbuttoned. his light hair was tousled, fairly tossed backward and uneven strands sticking against his sweaty forehead, wild from fumbling around in the sofa for hours.  
"iwa-chan." oikawa said, leaning against the doorframe.  
"your shirt's unbuttoned." iwaizumi pointed out.  
"well of course it is, what lunatic sleeps with clothes on, i'm being modest today." the boy explained.  
"so what are you working on?" oikawa began walking towards the desk, strewn with notes and empty pens.  
"the case. of course. please button up your shirt." iwaizumi said.  
"didn't one of the witnesses say that noya was drinking something different than usual?" oikawa suddenly inquired, blatantly ignoring the detective's request and curtly sitting atop the desk, one leg over the other, reading through the miscellaneous notes upon the table.  
iwaizumi frowned, snatching the note back and returning it to its previous spot.  
"yes, _so_?"

"well, if the poison was found in the drink, and if the bartender knew that noya was drinking something other than his usual order then...?"  
iwaizumi's eyes widened as he pulled himself up abruptly.  
"how- of course. _how didn't i-_?"  
"you're too stressed- that's why. why don't you have some rest?" oikawa asked, swiftly leaping off the desk and facing iwaizumi.  
"you've got bags under your eyes and you look like a coke addict. you're obviously drunk, there's no alcohol left in the fridge." the brown-haired boy stated bluntly.  
"i'm not tired, you've solved it- i-i need to-" he made to move past the desk but oikawa caught his hand, lurching iwaizumi back. the sudden moment made him light-headed. iwaizumi stood there, dully, wondering what had happened, when all of a sudden, he became aware that oikawa was immediately in front of him.  
the boy's face was very close to his. to iwaizumi's surprise, oikawa put his firm hands onto the detective's shoulders and leaned forward. kissing him, right on the mouth.

it was a real kiss — long, slow, _deliberate_. oikawa had caught iwaizumi off balance and grabbed his arm to keep the detective from falling. sharply, oikawa drew in his breath and his hands went down to iwaizumi's back, gripping the boy's waist. before the detective knew it, more from a hidden reflex than anything else, he found himself returning the kiss too. oikawa's tongue was sharp. his mouth had a bitter, carnal taste, like merlot and cigarettes.

he pulled away, breathing hard. iwaizumi was too stunned to move, but oikawa wasn't done. he leaned in to kiss his throat, quite carnally this time, less softer than before. iwaizumi looked rather wildly around the room. god, he thought, what a night.

"look- oi-oikawa," he tried to say between clashes of their lips, "stop it."  
oikawa pulled away, and for some odd reason, perhaps it was the lateness of the night, or the bizarre events of the past days taking effect, but the pair stood there in silence and laughed.  
"go to sleep. _you lunatic_." oikawa said, flicking a finger at the forehead of the sleep-deprived iwaizumi and curtly turning away, switching the light off with a gentle whisk of his finger and closing the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLYY09 FUCKJI SORRY FOR NOT UPDATINGUI I DIDNT THINK PEOPLE WOULD READ THIS AND9 NOW I FEEL GUILTY FOR NOT POSTING,.. CHAPTERS WILL TAKE A WHILE SINCE IM REWRITING MOST OF THEM + IM MOVING SCHOOLS/HOUSES ACROSS THE COUNTRY KFOLFOFOVNFI ILY GUYS SORRY ALSO SORRY FOR KILLING NIJ OFF NISHINYONA


	3. iii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short chapter, iwaoisuga tension,,, more mystery,, more questions.................

when iwaizumi awoke, a flimsy blanket had been thrown over him, and the room was blue with a cold, eerie light of dawn. the detective pulled himself up, off his desk and the blanket slipped off his back. his notes were in the same place as he had left them. the aching in his skull ebbed and flowed like a cold tide, yet the pain was always there. iwaizumi understood at once why the english called it a 'hangover', for it felt as if the blackest of clouds were over hanging over his head with no intention of clearing until late afternoon. iwaizumi rubbed his eyes with his forearm lazily. he made his way to the doorway, prying it open gently.

the detective could hardly remember a thing from the night before; it had been a ripe week since he'd had a chance at snatching forty winks for more than one hour. in the living room, oikawa sat in the windowsill with his back to iwaizumi; he wore his clothes from the night before and was eating goji berries from a small jar that was balanced atop his knee precariously.  
"what time is it?" iwaizumi asked.  
"six." oikawa replied without turning around, his mouth full.  
"want a berry?" he then asked. his collar was open and his clothes were disordered. his voice was flat and toneless. perhaps it was the weather.  
"what happened last night?"  
" _we_ -"  
he stopped himself.  
"made a breakthrough. in the case."  
" _ah_."  
iwaizumi staggered across to the bathroom, where he threw a handful of icy water into his dark-circled eyes and sighed.  
oikawa lit a cigarette with shaky hands in the other room.  
"where did you get those? the berries?" iwaizumi asked from the bathroom.  
"your fridge."  
"i thought i left some rice for you?"  
"yeah. these taste really bad." oikawa replied, looking down at the jar.  
"then throw them away."  
oikawa struggled with the window sash. it sailed up with a grinding noise as a blast of icy air billowed through the apartment.  
oikawa threw the jar out the window before leaning on the sash with all his weight to shut it again. finally it crashed down, the draperies floating down to rest placidly by the windows. the goji berries had left a spattered red trajectory on the dumpster below.

iwaizumi had changed his clothes, which felt better than usual, as if an atlas-worth of tension had been thrown away along with the burdensome attire. he returned with trousers and a black jersey that was at least two sizes too large.  
"what's the matter?" iwaizumi asked upon seeing the dull expression on oikawa's face, which was still lightly puffy and printed with the ridged pattern from the leather sofa.  
"we kissed," he said.  
"last night, i mean."  
iwaizumi felt a knot form in his gut.  
" _oh_."

the pair walked in an uncomfortable silence to the entrance of the brothel. neither had brought up the incident again, and in the drowsy absence of noise, iwaizumi felt the need to make things plain.  
"you know what, oikawa?" he said.  
"what?"  
it seemed the best to come right out and say it.  
"you know," iwaizumi said, "i'm really not attracted to you. its really not the right time. i mean not that—"  
"isn't that interesting." oikawa said coolly.  
"i'm really not attracted to you, either."  
"but—"  
"i was tired. and bored."  
they walked the rest of the way into the bottle in a not very comfortable silence.

" _detecti_ \- iwaizumi!" a voice hissed. the pair turned to see tendou, peeking from behind the exit of the brothel, gesturing brusquely for the pair to follow.  
inside the room, the curtains had completely blacked out the room.  
" _goddammit_." the familiar harsh voice of sugawara scowled.  
"sugawara." iwaizumi said,  
"where were you?" he continued, shouldering off his overcoat and walking towards the table.  
"i got back from shibuya yesterday. i'm devastated. about noya." the silver-haired boy added, though he didn't look particularly grievous.  
"any new leads, detective?" sugawara continued, placing a gentle hand on iwaizumi's shoulder.  
"yes. we have one, don't we?" oikawa chirped up from behind the detective.  
"' _we_?'" sugawara exclaimed, with a condescending chuckle.  
"well yes. _uh_ -" iwaizumi muttered uncomfortably.  
he cleared his throat. "we need to talk with... _well_... everyone."

the bar-lights flickered to life and iwaizumi settled into one of the chairs, lighting a cigarette and dragging on it for a moment.  
"the brothel's opening!" one of the hostesses announced as she pried open the front door, allowing a harsh billow of wind to follow in suit.  
"leon." iwaizumi placed a hand atop the counter, leaning towards the thickset, tanned male.  
"you handle the receipts along with hostesses, right?"  
leon nodded, warily.  
"i need the drink order that nishinoya requested. _that night_."

only a few minutes passed before the brothel was already bustling with randy males and flustered hostesses.  
a small-made boy with a freckled face and ivy-green hair made his way towards iwaizumi,  
"sir? detective? what's your poison today?"  
oikawa slid into a seat a few stools away from iwaizumi.  
"o-oikawa. you too." the green-haired boy stammered.  
"i'll have a dry martini,' iwaizumi then said. "one. in a deep champagne goblet." the green-haired boy's forehead twitched slightly,  
"o-okay-"

"just a moment. three measures of gordon's, one of vodka, half a measure of kina lillet. shake it very well until it's ice-cold, then add a large thin slice of lemon-peel. _got it?_ " iwaizumi continued.

the green-haired boy stepped back. "certainly, detective." the barman seemed terrified with the idea. "gosh, that's certainly a drink," said oikawa from beside iwaizumi. the detective grimaced,  
"it wasn't for me. it was-"  
the doors of the bar slammed closed as a fumble came from inside the kitchen. iwaizumi scrambled to his feet, sharply turning around the corner of the bar, crashing shoulder-first through the double-doors of the kitchen, just to catch the sliver of the barman's green hair as another door closed.  
"shit!" iwaizumi scowled, clambering around the miscellanies scattered around the floor in attempt to derail the detective.  
he slammed through the opposite door, as the green-haired male began clawing his way atop the brothel exit's gate.  
"i demand you to halt!" iwaizumi yelled, as the boy ignored him, his foot rooted in one of the wires of the gate.  
he cursed, trying to pull it out but iwaizumi grabbed the boy's ankle, throwing him down so his crashed face-first into the gravelly side of the dumpster surface.  
"okay, okay!" the green-haired boy screamed as iwaizumi neared.  
"i didn't do it! i just did-" he stopped himself.  
"yamaguchi." a voice said. oikawa sighed, crossing his arms as he and some of the other club members made their way outside.  
"o-oikawa." the green-haired boy stuttered.  
"sugawara! i didn't do nothing."  
"we didn't say you did." iwaizumi said, as he offered a hand, to which yamaguchi hurriedly declined, pulling himself up.  
"we know you know more than you're letting on." iwaizumi said.  
"i-i didn't do nothing."  
"then why'd you run?"  
yamaguchi glanced around.

"you recognised the drink i ordered, _did you not?_ the drink that you gave to nishinoya? the one you killed? you did kill him, _didn't you?_ after all, you're the only one who knew, and you let him die in front of you. you're the one who put the cyanide in, _aren't you?_ you think we don't know what you did?" iwaizumi grilled the boy who began crying.  
"i didn't do it, this other girl-" he paused, crying again, lines of warm snot tangling themselves within his choked words. yamaguchi tried to say something but he became a crying mess again. iwaizumi grimaced,  
"good god. take him back." asahi emerged from the small crowd, ushering the stuttering yamaguchi away and back into the brothel.  
"you didn't have to go that hard on him. he's just a teenager." oikawa scowled.  
"i thought you were the one who gave me the idea." iwaizumi replied, not too politely.  
oikawa looked taken aback,  
"i didn't ask you to start accusing him of first degree murder!" he hissed coldly.  
"god, _you're so fucking dense._ "

the detective threw his clothes onto the sofa, pulling off his sweat-drenched jersey off and indulging in the freedom of being shirtless.

 _("i didn't do it- this other girl-" yamaguchi had yelled.)_ iwaizumi turned to close the door behind him when his foot hit something small. a little box with scraggly penmanship sat on the carpet floor.

_'vhs tapes you asked for, sir:_

_:) tendou'_

iwaizumi held the box to the light, looking at the rectangular shape wrapped in a flimsy brown parcel.

* * *

he sat atop the sofa, eyes glistening blue against the cold filter of the vhs. there he was. nishinoya. he wore a trenchcoat, far too big for nishinoya, his face almost completely hidden by the fedora he wore. the only side of the brothel owner's face was blurry with the vhs dust. the boy slumped against the stool of the bar, waving to yamaguchi and talking to him, ordering something, in all likelihood. yamaguchi nodded, making his way to the bar. another girl, one with inexpressibly beautiful features, even through the blurriness of the vhs, made her way towards yamaguchi. she wore a bartender's apron, and she handed a glass to the green-haired boy after exchanging a few words. yamaguchi bowed in thanks, as the girl seemed to wave away his gratitude. nishinoya's drink arrived soon enough and the boy took a heavy swallow.  
("next time, i'll win.") the ardent last words of nishinoya still haunted iwaizumi.  
soon enough, nishinoya inhaled a trembling breath, sweat accumulating on his skin: icy cold.  
the dirty blond ringlets of nishinoya's hair seemed to be damp with sweat. a dribble of red, or darker blue, through the vhs, ebbed down his nose, and he reached up to feel it, his finger tainting itself in blood. the boy raised his arm as if to alert someone, but his eyes widened, before he slumped onto the counter face-flat, arm swinging down in suit. he was dead.

iwaizumi leaned away from the screen, pithily exhaling. the ashtray beside him was filled to the brim with half-smoked cigarettes and cinders.  
the detective extracted the vhs tapes, setting them aside and falling onto his sofa, jaded. he pressed his index and forefinger to his temples, rubbing them sorely.  
the front door suddenly rattled.  
iwaizumi jerked upright, the ashtray scattering to the floor with a clatter, leaving a trail of cinders in its trajectory. the rattling immediately stopped and there was a fumbling sound outside. the detective furtively made his way to the front, his hands outstretched as he peered through the door hole obliquely. no one seemed to be there. just the room in front. iwaizumi frowned, stepping away. he was sure there was someone outside, trying to get in, _without a shadow of a doubt._

"someone trying to get in? my dear detective, _why on earth would anyone try to get into your apartment?_ " sugawara shut the door and came over to the settee, where iwaizumi sat.  
"are you okay?" he asked, after a long, derisive pause. iwaizumi rubbed his eyes and ran a hand through his unruly hair. "yes. i'm fine." he replied, "really. sorry for barging in on you like this." sugawara stood looking down at the sitting iwaizumi with no obvious expression and didn't answer, simply nodded. then he took off his coat and laid it over the back of a chair.  
"you're lucky i just got home." he said. "want some tea?"  
"no."  
"well, i'm going to make some. if you don't mind."  
by the time sugawara was back, iwaizumi was more or less himself. the silver-head put the kettle on his radiator and helped himself to some tea bags from his bureau drawer.  
"here," sugawara said, "you can have my best teacup." he passed a petite, pink-rimmed to the detective.  
it was something of a relief to iwaizumi, to have sugawara there. something about him radiated solemn tranquility. iwaizumi sat up and drank his tea, watching sugawara take off his oxfords and socks. he put them by the radiator to dry. his feet were long and thin, too long for his slim, bony ankles; he flexed his toes and looked up at iwaizumi.  
"it's an awful night," he sighed, "have you seen?"  
iwaizumi told sugawara a bit about his night, omitting the part about his and oikawa's taboo kiss.

" _gosh_ ," sugawara said, reaching up to loosen his collar.  
"i've just been sitting in my apartment, mourning noya."  
"heard from anyone?"  
"no. not really."  
for some odd reason, iwaizumi's eyes strayed to sugawara's hands, which fidgeted unconsciously on the top of his desk. sugawara noticed, and forced his hands down, palms flat.  
"nerves." he said.

the pair sat for a while without saying anything. iwaizumi placed his teacup of the windowsill beside the sofa and reclined back. he couldn't help but remember oikawa's deadly pale face. he looked at the detective like a stranger, yet somehow worse. iwaizumi was staring across the room in his muse — how long, he didn't know — when gradually, he became aware that sugawara was looking at him with an intent, fixed expression on his face. iwaizumi mumbled something and got up, making his way to the bureau as he rubbed his eyes. there was a sudden movement that made iwaizumi feel light-headed. he stood there dully, before realizing who was standing behind him.  
iwaizumi felt his skin crawl and his face tense with vermillion shades.  
" _what_?"  
sugawara inhaled sharply, moving back.

"forgive me."  
iwaizumi sighed, as he shook out a cigarette and placed it to his lips, leaning against the countertop. sugawara made his way beside to the detective, taking out a silver zippo, with what iwaizumi guessed were his initials, s.k. engraved onto one side. he set the trembling flame to butt of iwaizumi's cigarette, lighting it generously, before tending to his own. iwaizumi gave a silent nod of thanks as he took a drag. the smoke from his exhale seemed to hover like melting spiderwebs in the air, visible by the dim light above the mini bar. sugawara brushed his unruly silver hair back from his eyes before turning to face iwaizumi. it wasn't until the detective turned that he realized how close the silver-head's body was to his own. he could feel the curve of the boy's narrow waist pressed up against the side of his own hip. iwaizumi felt sugawara's warmth. but it certainly wasn't a gratifying warmth. it was bitter and wicked, like a tempest of black feathers. nothing like oikawa's. the silver-head leaned in to caress iwaizumi's neck, slow and gentle, as if he was taking in the detective's very skin. his nimble hand slithered over the curve of iwaizumi's waist, searching for the belt of his trouser. the detective grimaced, trying to move back, but his back only dug deeper into the kitchen counter.  
"come on, now," iwaizumi scowled, "give me a break."

"it'll be fine. and fun, too." sugawara's voice slithered into the very tips of iwaizumi's mind, like some intoxicating liquor, "i promise." the detective's jaded mind began to agitate. he made an unintelligible noise, something between endorsement and opposition.  
"there's a good boy."  
under the frays of his silver hair, sugawara's eyes were sordid and hazel. he began undoing the top button of the detective's collar.  
" _suga_ -"  
"didn't i ask you to relax?"  
iwaizumi hated how much he wanted to cooperate. he completely understood how unhealthy it all was—he knew he was probably nothing more than sugawara's plaything—and yet he was compelled by the duality of the boy's unpredictable nature; the soft, warm caresses juxtaposed by the violent hands and bruising force. he didn't want to feel anything for the boy, for some odd reason, all iwaizumi thought about was oikawa. oikawa's soft, agile fingers: his deep, rough touch. nothing like sugawara's. but on the other hand, we, as humans, are beholden to what we feel and will pursue a feeling at any cost. iwaizumi tipped his head back against the board of the cupboard. oikawa had seemed annoyed. what for? what did iwaizumi do? was it the kiss?  
then, quite unexpectedly, there was a heavy knock on the door. sugawara and iwaizumi sprang apart like coils. the silver-head's eyed were wild and unblinking, as opposed to the detective's, which were confused and startled. there was another knock, more insistent this time.  
"wait here." sugawara stabbed out his newly lit cigarette, biting his lip and half-running to the door before brushing himself off and unlocking the hasp. he peeked around the ajar door, as if to hide iwaizumi and the visitor from each other.

sugawara leaned against the door with one elbow and nodded occasionally. a few words were exchanged and the silver-head eventually closed the door. iwaizumi stood gravely, cigarette dripping ash as it hung, limp, between the detective's fingers.  
he stared expectantly at sugawara, waiting for an explanation.  
the silver-head got the message and sighed, lighting himself another cigarette, except this time it took at least three shaky flicks of the lighter to set the end aglow.  
"who was that?" iwaizumi asked, in a low voice.  
"just a friend from work."  
"which work?"  
sugawara suddenly straightened, his face blanching, before rearranging into a hard, displeased expression.  
"what do you mean?"  
"forget it." iwaizumi pulled himself off the counter, grinding his half-smoked cigarette into the ashtray and making his way back to the sitting room, where he reached down for his overcoat and shouldered it on.  
sugawara stared austerely at the detective's back, taking a severe drag of his cigarette.  
"see you." iwaizumi said, without looking back, as he prepared to leave.  
"stay safe." sugawara replied apathetically.

" _iwa-ch_ \- iwaizumi." tooru's voice promptly liquefied iwaizumi's musing. the detective swivelled in his chair, facing the boy. his hair was windblown and unkempt, his eyes alight with a sort of forced apathy.  
" _hey_." iwaizumi replied, as casually as he could muster, but it came out tenfold tense.  
"yamaguchi's gone missing." oikawa said, silently refusing iwaizumi's request to sit.  
"what? how?" the detective asked, sharply.  
"he went home after interrogation but when he didn't come back this morning, some of us went to search his house, but there was no sign of him, his bed's the same from two days ago, we don't think he even got home."  
the whole room pulsed with an eerie heartbeat. it went horribly quiet. iwaizumi wiped his cheek with the heel of his hand, and covered his eyes, sighing deeply.  
oikawa looked as if he had been given the most absurd dilemma, before he furrowed his brows,  
"don't worry." he scowled.  
iwaizumi blinked tersely,  
" _listen_. oikawa. i'm sorry... _for what i said_." he said, as sanguinely as he could.  
"what's there to be sorry for?" oikawa replied, blankly, but his eyes seemed to narrow in scrutiny.  
iwaizumi opened his mouth to retort, but he was cut off by the heavy thud of the brothel door. the pair, along with most of the other staff and customers paused, turning to face the entrance. someone walked through the door. the room fell quiet. their polished oxfords made a rhythmical tap against the oak floor, solid and regular, like a typewriter. under their fedora, the person seemed like a young male, younger than both oikawa and iwaizumi: in fact, younger than almost everyone here, he seemed around eighteen. but his face was cold, yet unworried. the boy's crumpled white shirt was rolled up around his elbows and his black pants were littered with cigarette ash. he slumped down into one of the chairs, somewhere in the back, and pulled down his fedora deeper over his eyes. the crowd in the room shifted uneasily, but the jukebox rattled and started playing another song, causing them all to tensely resume like animatronics.

"what was that?" iwaizumi straightened on his seat, leaning his arms back on the counter of the bar as he took in the gaunt frame of the new male.  
"that's kageyama. he's-- _well_... you know. _mafia_." oikawa said it with uneasy solemnity. for one nasty moment, iwaizumi almost convulsed with laughter, but he succeeded in fashioning the chuckles into a theatrical battery of coughs.  
" _him_? he looks younger than me." iwaizumi ridiculed as oikawa shoved him in the ribs in a crude attempt to make him lower his voice. the detective winced in pain as he palmed his side, glancing over at kageyama. on seeing him, kageyama narrowed his eyes, pulling the brothel's leaflet from the table and staring at it, yet never once turning the page. iwaizumi averted his gaze, though still saw the boy in his peripheral vision. kageyama's knuckles were tense and white in a way that no teenager's should be. there was a rattle as the jukebox played another tune, and kageyama gripped the leaflet too hard, and his eyes narrowed, the way an eagle's does before they nosedive. kageyama seemed to feel iwaizumi's eyes still on him, and he picked himself up and moved to the seat furthest away from the detective's eyes, settling calmly and continuing to stare blankly at the leaflet. iwaizumi rolled his eyes to the ceiling of the brothel. kageyama would be the most likely person in town to know something about the strange slaughters, and both of them seemed to be aware of that.

"don't tell me you're gonna _talk_ to him?" oikawa grabbed iwaizumi by the shoulder, shoving the detective right back into his seat. the brown-haired boy looked at the rows of glasses stacked beside the back-bar cooler, explaining stiffly,  
" _listen_. you're not going to get anything from someone like him but a huge red target mark-- _right on your fucking head_. let's just take a breather and figure out what to do without resorting to the underworld. alright?" oikawa's fingernails dug deeper into iwaizumi's shoulder with each word, as if embedding the discussion into his sinew.  
from the other side of the brothel, kageyama abruptly stood up, dropping the leaflet and leaving through the egress, without looking back.  
"there's no time for that." iwaizumi followed in suit,  
" _iwaizumi_!" oikawa hissed, his arm falling limply off the detective's shoulder.

iwaizumi wrung his hands together as he struggled to catch up with the fast-paced kageyama. he caught a glimpse of the black-haired teenager across the street, who was glancing around himself furtively, before crossing the street over to the bus stop. iwaizumi scowled as the signal switched and the traffic continued. the detective bit his lip, poising as a bus approached kageyama's stop. iwaizumi shut his eyes momentarily as he bounded across the street, just barely avoiding a collision with a speeding jdm. horns and tires squealed like pigs as the detective sidled through them at full tilt. kageyama seemed to notice the commotion and his eyes dilated wildly. he glanced around hastily before shutting his eyes in pain and leaping in front of the traffic, arms spread. iwaizumi's eyes widened,  
" _wait_ \--"  
not a moment later, the bus trundled forward, the horn blasting and the tires screeching in fury. iwaizumi ran forward from the spot he was in, falling onto his chest and shoving kageyama backwards onto his rear. but if felt like it was too late.

the moment the bus came close enough to iwaizumi's face, he assumed he was dead. then he kept waking and waking. in truth, iwaizumi preferred to be unconscious rather than awake. because when he stirred into consciousness, he could taste the coppery blood pooling in the back of his mouth. he could feel it grazing his teeth and soaking his tongue. he felt the aching and groaning in his bones. each crack felt like granite grinding in a pouch, etching deeper into his skin. iwaizumi roused, his eyes distorting every few seconds. he could hear oikawa's voice every so often, calling out his name in desperation. iwaizumi sucked in cramped air, feeling his lungs caving in on themselves with each breath, like someone had sledgehammered them twenty three times. he saw fluorescent spots dancing in the corners of his vision, making his head feel like the only thing inside of it was static. the detective remembered for a moment, why he had done what he had done. he craned his neck down in pain, seeing kageyama, sitting up and wild-eyed. iwaizumi's head fell back, in something of relief. the detective suddenly heard a susurration filling his ears: like acidic oil being poured into his ears and filling the inside of his skull. he felt like his very essence was dissolving along with his bones.  
"where's the fucking ambulance?"

* * *

iwaizumi awoke, his dream as vivid as saturday morning cartoons on the new plasma tv. he'd seen a salmon-pink house that slowly melted like hot paint, the roof was ablaze and the lights were still on inside the house. a silhouette flitted across the window, slamming their hand against the glass, pounding onto it futilely. iwaizumi could almost hear the screams. he had tried to move, but his legs stuck heavy to the ground, forcing him to stand helplessly and watch the house burn. iwaizumi felt himself watch the inferno for hours, and soon the pounding figure slumped against the glass, dead. then the whole dream burned black, from the corners, like a polaroid on fire.

iwaizumi lay there quietly, keeping his eyes closed, matching his breaths to the beeping of the machines that surrounded the bed, the only indications of his heartbeat, his existence, his absurd survival. iwaizumi tried moving his feet, but his legs were numb: yet he knew they were there, he could see the contours of his lower body under the covers of the hospital bed. curiosity slowly pried open his swollen eyes, which met a dismal view of a magnolia-painted hospital room. there was a shuffle from beside him. iwaizumi slid his eyes sideways: and there lay oikawa, his head turned and against the desk, his brown hair sprawled wildly and his body sighing with slow inhales and exhales as he quietly snored. iwaizumi felt his mouth twitch into a small, uncontrollable smile. the detective craned down to get a look at his arms, the only uncovered parts of his body. they were turning a rich puce with bruising: he hadn't been in the hospital long enough for the contusions to fully form: by tomorrow, the wounds would be pulsing deep purple. plenty of deep incisions ran along the detective's arms, probably by small gashes that had to be sown together. just next to oikawa's figure was a small chart:

_ hajime iwaizumi (岩泉) _   
_ status: stable _   
_ admittance: 10:27 am _   
_ cause of admittance: vehicle collision _   
_ diagnosis: several cases of ecchymosis, mild blunt force trauma, mild abrasions. _   
_ discharge: 6:00pm tuesday 27th. _

the 27th? that was in three weeks. iwaizumi scowled, struggling to secure himself on his arms, but they gave way, making him slip and causing him to strike the back of his neck upon the metal head-frame of the bed. iwaizumi hissed in pain as his head landed, futilely, back into the hospital bed's pillow. from the sudden noise, oikawa shuddered awake: his eyes bloodshot and half-lidded, as if he had been smoking one too many cigarettes.  
sure enough, behind the boy, one and a half ten-packs sat scattered around the desk along with an ashtray: filled with quarter-smoked cigarettes and a nail-embedded cola can.  
" _iwa_ -" oikawa started, but he stopped to enclose his hands around his face, before standing up.  
"how are you?"  
the last things iwaizumi briefly remembered before waking up were: being in the back of a car, people bending over him, but the only thing he could remember with full clarity was finding himself in that dingy magnolia hospital room with an iv in his arm.  
"i'm... _fine_." iwaizumi managed a smile but oikawa looked unconvinced.  
"there wasn't much damage done: the nurses just cleaned your cuts out and gave you a few stitches. luckily the bus managed to slow down and minimise the damage quite a lot. if it was still going at the same speed as ten seconds before, we'd be having a very different conversation." oikawa sat back down on his seat and lit the last cigarette in his pack, shakily.  
"what's this for?" iwaizumi gestured to the iv.  
"probably medications." oikawa replied bluntly,  
"do you want some water?" he added courteously.  
"no thank you, where's kageyama?"

oikawa grimaced, "he's downstairs in the infirmary, he's got some mild bruising too."  
"help me up."  
oikawa let out a wry chuckle,  
" _excuse me?_ in case you didn't notice, you just jumped in front of a bus and almost got your ribcage blown off— the discharge date is in almost a month. you're in no shape to go and 'question' people. for god's sake i wonder what'll get you killed first: your gullibility or your stupidly blunt narcissism." the brown-haired male pinned iwaizumi back down into his hospital bed.  
"oh come on. we're getting nowhere in the case and i just want to get this shit over with." iwaizumi scowled.  
" _i said no._ "  
"do i look like i give a shit about what you say, oikawa? all you do is whine about what i can't do! this is my case, you just involved yourself in it, can you just-"  
oikawa's face mottled crimson and his eyebrows furrowed. iwaizumi only then noticed how the boy's cheekbones had become so much more prominent over the previous weeks, how his eyes were half-ringed with grape-coloured puce and how his fingers had grown thinner.  
"oh hey-- _hey i'm_ \- i'm sorry, i didn't—" oikawa had long since stormed off; the hospital door whining on its hinges as he slammed it loudly behind him.  
iwaizumi heard him beat against a wall, and then stalk off with a strangled sigh.  
the detective roared to himself, slamming his fist into the desk beside him; oikawa's empty cigarette packets flitting to the floor, the fine gray powder from the ashtray following in suit.  
" _goddammit_!"

"your name's kageyama _tobio_? i hope i pronounced that right." iwaizumi said in a low tone, as courteously as his voice would permit.  
raven-black hair laced across bitter blue eyes— eyes that narrowed, obviously unhappy, when they landed upon the detective.  
"care to tell me why you _jumped in front of a fucking bus?_ " iwaizumi grimaced with steepled fingers and a cigarette between his teeth. kageyama remained taciturn: his eyes still narrowed and sour.  
"in case you haven't noticed, i'm having a very shitty day: i just got run over by a bus and i also manage to fuck up another cordial relation." iwaizumi scowled, harshly dragging the cigarette from his lips and exhaling a stringy web of smoke right into the boy's blanched face.  
" _oh_ ," kageyama hissed acidly, "i'm sorry, _do you want a hug?_ "  
iwaizumi's eyebrows furrowed. the boy's unusual brogue had certainly caught him off guard. kageyama's curt voice carried a faint germanic drawl, and he sighed, almost theatrically, as if he had been most unpleasantly awoken.  
"where are you from?" iwaizumi haphazardly asked.  
kageyama seemed mildly offhand, as he flexed his gaunt fingers and reached for the glass of water at his desk. the detective seemed to notice the boy's poorly-hidden juking of the question and scowled, snatching away the glass of water from kageyama's grasp.  
the two boys stared, eyes narrow and reluctant to back down, before kageyama relaxed, leaning back into his pillow against the bed-frame with a sigh.  
"miyagi, _japan_." he replied.  
iwaizumi chuckled wryly,  
"you've got nerve: _lying to my face like that_."  
kageyama snatched back the water and took a heavy swallow, before slamming the glass back onto the desk,  
" _lying_? bold of you to assume."

"assume? you're-- you're a _german_."  
"but i'm a japanese citizen. want to check my visa?"  
iwaizumi leaned back in his chair and scowled.  
"why'd you run into the bus? _huh_? afraid your master would find out that a measly detective snuffed you out? yeah, about that. who is your master? is this about drugs? some kingpin business?" iwaizumi growled, standing up, towering over the teenager.  
"you- you're so _young_. don't you want to help stop this?"  
kageyama's eyes widened, but returned to their cold sneer moments later.  
"no, detective. this. it's entirely your fault, because you can't do your job right. and let me tell you, we are not done yet: _no_. this is only the beginning, and you haven't figured out _shit_! how the tables have turned. i am absolutely not helping you solve anything. i just want to inform you that you're utterly fucked. detective." the raven-head convulsed with bitter laughter as he slammed his hand into the bed's railing and screamed in feigned pain. a few nurses followed shortly after, tending to the boy's hand.  
"sorry, sir, but you're going to have to leave." one of the women said.  
"i'd like that." kageyama said, with an ear-to-ear grin, his eyes hollow and sour.  
" _i'd like that a lot._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im currently writing a completely new chapter for the next update. this book was never meant to be about iwaoi in the first place, and it was meant solely to be about a no-ship, mafia au, but iwaoi ideas kept popping up so i was like FUCK IT. now i just got a great idea for an insertion of another ship, since i feel the story is going pretty slow right now, so while i think of ideas for what's to happen, the second storyline will be here for you all to read, because mafia stories need to be confusing as fuck and what the hell is a stable plot??


	4. iv.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter focuses on the second storyline as delves a bit into hinata's past and how it links to the present. 
> 
> tw // rape, gang-rape, non-con, pressure, futility, witnessing rape, cult-like group, controlling. abusive characters.
> 
> a small reminder to everyone that the characters referenced are all aged up by at least two years unless stated otherwise. for ref.
> 
> hinata is 18 in this chapter (taking place three years ago) and is 21 in the present day time-period of the story (last chapter period.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im terribly sorry for the late update, i had a huge period of writer's block, so i wrote this not as well as the rest of the chapters. sad face.

> _three years ago:_

night had come around again, far too soon, but it was summer after all. hinata rested his head against the cool metal of his front door as he sorted the miscellaneous untidiness that were his coat pockets. the boy was whiter than cold milk, with hair that matched the orange thread of his rosary. he didn’t need to be in a good mood to have that sort of half smile that ticked up on one side, plastered on his face. it was almost automatic. default. his pale hazel eyes glued to the assortment of items in his pockets. with the lights of the twilight melting into a wan darkness, the whole street was cast into a filter of dim, rusty grey, the susurration of the rain didn’t contribute any less to that ambience.

what awaited over the mountain bike ride wasn’t a bacchanalia, a gourmet, nothing remotely as liberating; rather, it was the nightshift. twelve straight hours with a congregation of older jocks hinata wasn't sure really qualified as higher primates. the boy’s hand ferreted around in his pocket for a pill, just half a sleeping tab, not enough to put him under, but sufficient to dull his mind. with a sudden jerking movement, hinata stepped back and shook on his loosened overcoat, checking that his helmet was on right, before harshly striking his foot down on one of the pedals. everything was in motion. the spokes of the wheels began to blur; each strand of taut metal, together and unique, all at once. the bleakness of the night felt as a lonely hearth-side shawl, comforting in a lachrymose, alone way. wheels turned over the wet track, hinata’s speed bringing the harsh pellets of rain into his face, harder than it would, were he walking.

the fuzz of his overcoat boasted kebabs of rain on their tips, like little hats. on days like this, hinata’s colleague, kuroo had said, there was just no point in heavy clothes; ‘the only thing that'll keep you warm is your own movement, the pumping of your legs and the throbbing of your heart.’ head down, press on, thinking of the warmth at the other end. there was a part of hinata that envied the stoicism of his senior. kuroo, safe behind the shatter-proof glass and painted steel that was his fortitude and naivety. the lights of hinata’s bicycle pulsed shakily with every unpredicted swerves of the wheels, but that was normal when it rained. sloppy mud was just fine; it meant more effort, but it was more fun too. all hinata had to watch out for were the bogs, anything too soft or deep and the front wheel would sink right in, the bike would stop, and it would be a painfully slow fall into seemingly endless mud.

“hey! watch-” the orange-head snapped out of his muse, his eyes widening as he harshly deviated from the byroad, as the bike dipped into a divot, sending the boy crashing into a building side like a bird into a wall. “shit! are you alright?” a hand yanked up on hinata’s overcoat, pulling him up from the gravel. “i’m fine! sorry! _sir_.” hinata dipped down in an admission of apology. he didn’t stop bowing until the male held his shoulders and gently forced him up straight. “nevermind me—what’s someone like you doing out this late?” hinata coughed, “i’m a nurse, sir.” “a nurse, _huh_?” hinata finally got a look at the boy before him through the dim hue of a single streetlight.

the man, if anything, was fitter looking than hinata expected. his face told of a lean body beneath his wintry garb, and his expression was palpably serious, but not unkind--it was more impish than gentle. he had a thick, bitter-coloured tousle of brown and blond hair; the most noticeably brightest combination hinata had ever seen. he thought the man dressed quite akin to robert de montesquiou, or wilde:--generously-cut shirts with french cuffs; extravagant neckties; a black greatcoat that ebbed and flowed in the nightly breeze as he came close, striking a resemblance between a learned professor and a young aesthete. he looked sedate, but nonetheless, oozed a french bohemian cool. the strange man introduced himself as atsumu corcoran miya-- the sudden insertion of a foreign name catching hinata by surprise. he figured it best to not question the boy about his pedigree and stayed silent as atsumu patted him off generously.

his skin hummed a frisson in suit to where the boy touched him, and his heart beat almost erratically within his chest. perhaps it is the weather, or the adrenaline, hinata thought, uniformly. “yes, sir. i work downtown, over the mountain at-” “ _st. luke’s_.” atsumu finished as he moved back. hinata blinked. the pair stood for a time, listening to the night’s ambience, awkwardly. then atsumu turned to the orange-head, who was thumbing at his rosary with a bashful face. “i’m terribly sorry about that-- l’m not used to seeing people out this late,” atsumu said, “so i don’t pay attention to the road, that was entirely my mistake. please forgive me, i hope a meal tomorrow evening will suffice.” hinata, unable to refuse such a direct offer, stiffened. “w-what? you needn’t, really-- after all, i’m the one to blame; i’ve always been a bit of a klutz-” the orange-head tried to argue back but atsumu hushed him into an acquiescent silence. “i can wait in the hospital, right? i’ll meet you there. i really must get going now.” atsumu said, more to himself than to hinata, who nodded confusedly.

the blond shrugged on his greatcoat, but as he made to left, he made a little strangled noise of self-hate. “dear me, i didn’t even catch your name--it’s like this whole thing has been about me! and please, don’t bother with the honorifics, i don’t care for such fickle things of traditional hierarchy.” hinata fingered the string of his rosary as he spoke. “i’m hinata shouyou.” he said. “hinata… _shouyou_ …?” atsumu seemed lost in thought for a moment. “’a place in the sun’… ‘a flying heaven.’” the male quoted bemusedly. hinata’s breath hitched. “you-” the only other person who bothered to remember his name’s analogy was his good friend kenma. “ _magnificent_.” atsumu noted. the orange-head felt frissons dance up his back at the older male’s words. “it isn’t- _really_ -” atsumu smiled, before waving and continuing his traverse to wherever it was a cryptic man like him would traverse to. hinata stood with no particular thoughts in his head for a few moments. the smudged stars were beginning to show through the sky. i’ve spent far too long here, he thought.

for the first week, atsumu (albeit quite uniformly), continued to chaperone the nurse to various foreign brasseries and luncheonettes, that prior to then, hinata hadn’t a clue of their existences. during the course of their chronic encounters, hinata had somewhat discerned his cryptic pursuer. atsumu was a bad poet, but good with his words; two completely different fortes, he was also, strangely, a vicious gossip, with, also strangely, a vocabulary composed almost entirely of obscenities and guttural foreign verbs, as well as the word “plebeian.”

“what’ll we do with ourselves this afternoon?” cried atsumu, “and the day after that? and in thirty years?” hinata had also gotten used to the boy’s sudden and theatrical soliloquys, where he would moan about the world’s burdens and the scarcity of time, in all its great and melancholy depth. “i don’t know, sir.” hinata observed timidly. “again, with the ‘sir’, knock it off, y’know,” atsumu bowed at a passing woman, “we’re far past honorifics now. calling me ‘sir’ makes me feel old. and uncomfortable. just like how you’d feel if i called you ‘ _honey_ ’.” “i wouldn’t necessarily object that.” hinata replied, bashfully, his cheeks soaking up with a faint champagne pink. atsumu laughed, a hint of rueful indulgence in his chuckle. “then it’s settled--as of now, _you_ \- hinata shouyou, are my ‘ _honey_ ’.” the blond stopped in his tracks to swivel around; his greatcoat spiralling quite magnificently, too, as he did so. he bent down so as to meet almost nose-to-nose with the orange-haired youth.

“then-! then i feel in return for calling me such an amorous nickname that i must be obliged to continue calling you ‘sir’, am i not?” hinata replied, quite emphatically, his face quite red and rather heated. atsumu looked taken aback. the orange-head, too, hadn't meant to do what he had done, one could tell by the look of mild shock on his face and by his cheeks that flushed an even deeper hue of vermillion. “excuse me.” hinata bowed his head in a silent plea for forgiveness, his eyes still tightly shut.

“an amorous nickname, _you say?_ ” atsumu’s voice had a tone to which hinata’s ears had never tuned to. it was gravelly and smooth, the baritone of his voice reverberated through hinata’s bones, sending tremors of fervour down his front. “are you meaning to say,” the blond leant down deeper, so his voice seeped through the curls of hinata’s hair and into his scalp like warm caramel. “that it excites you?” hinata’s blush seared through his face and for a minute he thought his throat was on fire. he suddenly felt demure, and coy; even going as far as attempting to hide his rose-tainted face behind his slim fingers.

the orange-head knew that atsumu’s eyes were looking at him-- eagerly waiting for a reaction, a response, like some predatory, sadistic animal. hinata straightened but atsumu grabbed him by the collar of his shirt at once. “you didn’t answer, maybe i’ll ask again, honey.”

by now, the boy’s face must have been beyond an attractive rosiness. “it’s just that- only such close and affianced men and women call each other that- it really is quite crude to be going around calling another man that, is it n-not?” hinata stated, shakingly. atsumu chuckled- it was more of a sympathetic guffaw at first, which descended into more of a condescending and dry laugh within seconds. “my, my, hinata, dear, this world is so obsessed with defining sexuality for everyone and attaching labels to it. any time any person openly leaves the sexual norm, their sexuality becomes, more often than not, the absolute defining characteristic themselves. it becomes the first thing people think about and often the first thing they mention. every other part of that person all but disappears.” the blond grabbed hinata’s hand, which immediately jerked away at first, but slowly softened back into atsumu’s grip.

“you- you’re-?” atsumu thought for a moment. “rather than the crude umbrella term ‘gay’, i rather prefer, ‘freewheeling bisexual.’” the blond declared, gabbily making signs in the air with his free hand. “et toi?” he suddenly asked, turning, holding hinata by the waist with dead serious eyes. “ _who are you?_ ”

layers upon layers of inelegance filled the air as more and more people began to notice the pair. “me? no. i’m not-- of course not. i-- i just don’t understand...” hinata trailed off, thoroughly uncomfortable, and atsumu took pity on him. “to be rather honest, you’re not my type, because i’m not gay.” the silence was sharp. vaguely, atsumu was aware his mouth was hanging open. he shut it quickly. then opened it again to say, “oh, that’s nice.” hinata pulled away, awkwardly, snaking his scarf around his neck, making sure to pull out his rosary and place it above the fabric humps of red. “ _i’m sorry._ ”

* * *

by the second week, hinata caught himself hoping he would stumble into the blond again, sometimes staring out the window of the hospital in a funk. by week three, he'd feel the boy’s words against his neck on colder nights. the stark ice-gloved twigs of the cherry tree were dark against the snow. months had passed. hinata passed the street him and atsumu had met in almost ten hundred times, each time filling him with a deeper sense of guilt.

when hinata saw the bus pull in, an old model with worse suspension than a homemade pram, his mood sunk lower than it already had been. two years later, and the condition kept worsening. the buses driven by younger men had one rule – sit down and keep your mouth shut or get off. well, that was the only rule unless one had more brawn than the driver, then they could say anything they liked. that, undoubtedly, isn’t me, the boy thought to himself. the school girls sat at the back and tried to blend into the seats, with faces pointed at the window and never catching anyone’s eye, especially the older men and the bus drivers.

the cocoon of metal stopped vociferously, the driver pulling the doors open by hand and standing to collect the fares and money – crinkled notes and pockets of coin. behind an older lady, hinata took his time to spy the tires, bald. the paintwork was barely a hint of white under the thick red dust of the region. the windscreen had only a section clear to see through, the rest was baked on dirt.

“you. with the orange-hair.” a sharp voice snapped hinata back. it was the driver. he had his hand out expectantly. “ah! excuse me.” hinata gave a small smile to which the driver didn’t return. the boy patted himself down, before his smile waned into a grimace, then a blank face, and finally red realisation. “aha.” hinata chuckled ruefully. the line behind him were mumbling curses and scorns, and the boy could feel stares penetrating his skull in every direction. “alright. get out the line.” this wasn’t one of those rebellion movies. “ _ok_.” hinata stepped out compliantly, before he was shoved back in, shouldering an old woman out the way.

“i’ll pay for him.” the orange-head was most confused. the driver looked irritated, before sighing and accepting the stranger’s coin. “stranger, i’m most gratef-” hinata’s eyes grew wide, his face paled, and his ears flushed a deep, hot red-- his pallidness contrasting rather violently with his tangerine hair. he blinked. the street was still grey, like one of those noir movies, with the yet-to-be-awoke day. half-reeling from his morning nausea, hinata wasn’t sure if it was apparitions from his desperate mind that he was seeing. “yes?” the boy looked mildly annoyed.

“atsumu?” the boy’s eyes widened slightly, hinata noticed how he blanched somewhat, and saw traces of frustration in his eyes, even if he masked them skilfully. he looked as if he were about to say something but paused. “aren’t you getting on?” a woman prodded hinata’s leg with her cane. the orange-head apologised, hurrying onto the bus with atsumu in suit. he looks quite changed now, hinata thought pensively.

atsumu, indeed, did seem not at all his aesthete, unattainable self, but rather a roguish, more slyer apparition. “dear boy, what are you staring so confoundedly at?” atsumu suddenly asked. his rougher, more toned brogue startled hinata. “‘boy’--? i’m- atsumu, are you feeling all right?” the orange-haired male angled his head slightly, in concern.

once more, the latter furrowed his brows in a sort of vexed manner. “i’m fine.” he rolled his shoulders back tersely, before settling into one of the seats at the very back of the bus. hinata seemed apprehensive, but nevertheless, sat beside the boy, too. a tense blanket of silence filled the metal cocoon as it trundled over the grey fields of road. hinata reluctantly cleared his throat in preparation to start a conversation. “well,” the orange-head began, “i like your new hair.”

atsumu seemed ill at ease, incipiently, before he slackened, running a thin hand through his windblown, now platinum hair. “it’s quite bohemian, is it not?” the boy said, more to his ego than to hinata. “much better than blond.” he added. the orange-head laughed, “why do you say that? _i found it quite charming._ ” the latter cried out in fresh anguish. “my dear shrimp! the tone of that colour is muted! the style is so horribly reminiscent of klimt! each hue of the ugly colour has a soiling quality that renders the whole thing vile, like a leper.” the boy spoke with such enmity for a mere colour, even hinata seemed taken aback.

“ _gosh_ ,” the orange-haired boy remarked, “what seems so horrendous about klimt? the fellow has quite enthralling paintings.” at this, atsumu wept out in vexation at hinata’s ignorance. “the man’s love was the female body, and his works are so vilely marked by a frank eroticism. also, ‘symbolism’ is just another word for ‘abstract’, and abstract is just another word for ugly. artists nowadays abandon the true idea of what art is: appealing to the senses.” atsumu seemed final with his argument and shouldered on his greatcoat once more, conclusively. sublime madman, hinata thought, as he bowed his head in a sign of reverence to the learned. “bizarre--! it is like i’ve met another side of you, atsumu, a brother!” hinata remarked, his eyes twinkling. the boy beside him chuckled cryptically, “perhaps.” “say,” hinata began, “do you… want to talk about that thing… before you left? i didn’t mean anything i said, i realise that now!” the voracious orange-haired youth said, turning in his seat to face atsumu.

“i love y-” the platinum haired boy stopped hinata with a hand around his mouth before he could finish. “madman!” he whispered harshly, “if you are about to say what i’m thinking-- reconsider.” hinata looked acutely startled. “but—” atsumu gestured to the passengers of the bus with a subtle sweep of his eyes and head. it was now that hinata realized how much contempt-filled eyes were staring at the pair: but how most of the scorn was addressed promptly at the orange-head. “o-oh.” hinata’s voice came out as a mere squeak. atsumu cleared his throat awkwardly. the pair sat in uncomfortable layers of silence which were louder than any noise as the bus trundled across the gravel.

“are you getting off?” the platinum-haired male began to stand up as hinata grabbed his wrist. atsumu yanked it away almost instantly. “what?” he hissed to the orange-head. “i-i’m sorry for everything i said, please forgive me- i don’t have anything to live for, i need you.” hinata bowed deeply, his face not red, as he had rehearsed those lines many times in his head, and the embarrassment had since dissipated; replaced with a furious passion. atsumu looked irate, glancing around him as a small crowd began forming. even the bus driver seemed to be watching keenly through the rear-view mirror.

“ _listen_ ,” atsumu began, lowering his voice and looking agitated as he put his hands together. “you’re a young boy, ain’t you? go find a nice girl, live with her, hell, make some babies, just leave me alone. i’ll give you some- here-” the boy ferreted in his pockets for something, before slapping a crumpled wad of notes in the orange-head’s palm. “see? fifty quid? that’s what you want right? money. right, now, run along now, don’t want to cause a-” “miya?” “- _scene_.”

atsumu’s eyes tautened: his pupils mutating into thinner globes than the tips of needles. a small person: a girl of fifteen, perhaps, was plaiting pandanus-leaf to make a hat while standing and smoking a cigarette. she had narrow, calculating eyes, as if she had already analysed the scene before her. dark hair, not dark enough to be black, but dark enough to be the darkest hue of brown, her hair swept over the hazel glints of her eyes, flattened down by their beret. “suna.” atsumu straightened himself, grabbing hinata’s wrist and leaping quite vigorously through the doors of the bus, landing right before the girl. suna was now onto glaring down at hinata. the orange-head felt as if needles of contempt were taking turns assaulting his senses. “who’s this?” the brunette said, but spat was perhaps more similar to the tone of which she asked. “this- this-” atsumu gestured gabbily to the shorter boy, “-is our newest member.” “member?” hinata echoed, mildly startled.

“ _him_?” suna looked acquiescent to accept the fact before him, but he visibly relaxed his tensed body and held out a hand to the orange-head. “oh?” hinata quickly unfurled his arms to shake the girl’s hand.

“suna. suna rintarou. i work downtown at the library.”   
“suna rintarou.” hinata repeated to himself, as if memorizing the name.  
“and you?”   
“hinata shoyou!” the orange-head animatedly bowed.  
“you seem awfully enthusiastic to be joining something like this. are you one of those masochistic foreigners?”  
“ _masochi_ -?”  
atsumu yanked hinata closer to him suddenly. the orange-head blushed upon feeling the closeness of him.  
“i’ve caught myself a good one,” he said,  
“haven’t i?” atsumu whispered into hinata’s ears, the younger boy’s ear prickling at the airlessness between them.  
suna watched, no particular expression on her face as she did so.

“oh. rintarou, be sure to bring the guys over this evening, i’ll introduce them to hinata.”   
suna nodded without a word, discarding her cigarette and turning curtly.

“she’s brusque.”  
“ _she_?”  
“ _she_?” hinata echoed.  
atsumu cackled,  
“that’s a lad.”  
“i beg your pardon?”

with his rouged cheeks, purpled lipcoat and natural mascara, suna might have been any girl after an hour at her mother's dressing table. hinata was still recovering from the revelation. “it’s an easy mistake, don’t beat yourself up about it.” atsumu said, slapping the boy’s back. “oh, but atsumu. i’m sure he noticed my behavior, what’ll i say?” hinata mumbled. the platinum-haired male tutted to himself humorously. “i’m sure he’s already forgotten. suna’s not the type to bother to remember someone’s opinions of him. besides, it’s like i said—people always make that assumption about him. that’s why he joined me. to make use of his looks. no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make himself one of those virile males. so, he manipulated his looks enough to be just as effective. simple as that.” hinata thought to himself. “i do feel bad for him. i’ve been through a similar situation myself. though i’m sure it’s not as bad as suna’s case.” atsumu furrowed his brows. “do tell, my dear hinata.” the orange head thought for a moment, as if reminiscing. “i guess, back in grade school, all the boy’s made fun of me for having fair skin and girly features, so most of the girls weren’t particularly fond of me, either. it stayed with me, even till now. lots of people ask me to ‘male-up’, but i really can’t bother. being feminine brings me a sort of joy. you know?” “i really don’t. but whatever floats your boat my dear. though it’s not the same as suna’s case. he did it purely for the power. you do it for the happiness. _like a fag_.” hinata paled. “a--a-?”

“here. looks like suna got everyone over.” “ _everyone_?” there were cigarettes and beer cans scattered over the marble tile. hinata halted so as not to tread on them and stopped to take in the scene. the room was lit only by televisions and the dim wall lights. a cool damp rush of air stuttered in with the muscular stench of alcohol. hinata turned, seeing atsumu lock the door in three places.

“ _well_?” the platinum-haired male asked. “what’re you just standing there for? don’t be a rude guest, _go and introduce yourself_.” he gestured to a room on the far end of the corridor that seemed to be lit up. “o-ok.” upon entering, hinata immediately felt eyes probing him in every direction, as if he was foreign prey. the orange-head bowed, which was followed by snickers and cough-infused catcalls.

in the room, everything was brilliant lit: tiled walls and floor, all lit with small ball lights, like a teenage girl’s room. the television seemed to be playing a gruesome erotic film, which all the men seemed to be immersed in: some playing with their erect members as they did so. _what the hell was this?_

hinata, as quickly as he was the centre of attention, he became the lowliest in the room. a light, gross slapping sound made their way into his hearing there was a man beneath the sheets of a small mattress on the floor, bald with wrinkles of age, his eyes showing rapid movement beneath the lids. hinata almost retched in his throat. he needed to leave. “leaving so soon, hinata my dear?” atsumu’s voice sent frissons up the boy’s neck. “o-of course not, i just want some water- this is a bit much for me…” hinata stammered, regretting his agreement to this by every second. a girl, no younger than hinata, sat crouched on a chair, an unsteady flicker of a lighter between her fingers as she lit a roll of something and placed it to her lips. no sooner than she did so, the horrible reek of marijuana pirouetted through hinata’s senses.

she glanced up at the orange-head through the dimness of the room. he knew with one glance, one look, one simple instant. it was her eyes. despite the thick makeup, they were still dark-rimmed, haunted, and sad. most of all though, they were strangely familiar. the fact that we were in front of hundreds of strangers changed nothing at all. she looked utterly broken.

“don’t worry. the bitch is a slut for them. the marijuana. want some, by the way?” “n-no.” atsumu gave a nod of greeting to one of the boys on the sofa, who returned to the sickening slapping of his manhood.

“what is this place?” “whatever you want to call it: a whorehouse, a slut den, escapism, a motel, heaven, hell- _even_.” atsumu lit a cigarette and watched the film on the television. it was different now. two women kissing and fingering each other while men around them moaned, eventually spilling their white seed over them. the boys watching the film howled and cooed, beating their meat harder, much to hinata’s revolt.

“it’s a bit like gokkun. isn’t it? without the drinking.” atsumu noted. “ah.”

“ _well_? what did you think? quite magnificent isn’t it? we have a bigger quarters, all the women are there today, but that’s not ready for your virgin eyes just yet. you need to get initiated before that.” “ _i-initiated-?_ ” hinata shuddered at the thought of what ‘ _initiation_ ’ was. “why yes, we can’t just have you running around telling all your other virgin friends about this place, can we? it’s far too great.” atsumu and hinata were passing the main street now. “tell me about your shifts, where your job is, so we can work something out.” hinata paused, reddening. “y-you forgot?” atsumu looked irritated, more at himself, as if he’d made a mistake. “sorry. i mean. your shifts, i need to figure something out so you can be comfortable with the timetable, my dear.” hinata blushed at the term of endearment, and atsumu seemed to notice.

“um. i usually finish my shifts on the weekdays at five in the afternoon, and then on weekends it’s the opposite, i finish at five in the morning.” atsumu thought for a moment, as if doing the bare arithmetic in his head. “straight after work then, on your weekends. come to the place i told you about. you can have the whole of the rest of the week to yourself. we only take two days of your time. and it only lasts about five hours. not doing anything of course, just hanging out with the boys, you know?” atsumu said, slapping the orange-head’s back playfully. “oh, o-ok. that’s fine. _i guess._ ”

* * *

it was a clear, black morning, disordered with still flickering stars. hinata twisted his fingers around the strap of his bag, nerves choking up his throat now. this was a mistake. he never should have agreed. maybe if he said the hospital gave him another shift today? but the he’d have to do the same next week. and the week after that. atsumu would get suspicious sooner or later.

hinata knew too well that every initiation was with sacrifice or blood, or in this case, _sex_.

hinata had noticed that the door was not quite closed, and the interstice irresistibly fascinated him. he paused atop the threshold to ferret into his pockets and reread the address crabbily scribbled on its parchment, and back at the boulevard marker a few metres back. this was most definitely the place, hinata was sure. the orange-head looked up and was overwhelmed at how big the door was and how fancy it looked with the dragon head door knocker and the chinese-reminiscent patterns. “you’re here for the initiation?” a small voice startled hinata.

coming up beside him was a younger female, far younger than him, at least fifteen, all dressed up, as if she thought this was some sort of graduation. “i- i suppose… why are you here?” “for the initiation, too, silly!” she laughed. so carefree and offhand about it all. “you know what goes on in here, don’t you?” “of course, i do! mother works at this place. as for myself, well, i’ve been working here since i was fourteen.” hinata paled. “and how- how old are you?” “seventeen coming up.” she chortled, before making her way inside, leaving hinata in her wake. nothing would surprise him now. but he was wrong. _very, extremely, wrong._

“hinata, you came!” atsumu ambled over. “w-why, you thought i wouldn’t come…?” hinata stammered. the boy chuckled warmly. “of course not, its just that anyone would have nerves. in fact, you’re one of the few that comes right on their first invitation to the initiation. well done, my dear.” hinata flushed a deep red. atsumu stood with a glass of scotch in his hand, sporting the aristocratic cutting lines of a great tailor, one who could take his perfect form and make him an even more potent figure of power.

his cheekbones seemed more sharp than ever, and his cropped hair was swept somewhat messily over his pale eyes, but in a clean sort of way. like when girls would strive to be untidy in an appealing way- except atsumu had perfectly done just that. “here.” atsumu handed the boy a glass of what looked like a cup of grape punch. hinata gladly accepted it, swallowing down the liquid in gulps. it was as heady as one thought: intoxicating and tangy.

“y-you look nice.” hinata whispered to atsumu. “ _why_ , hinata, you look stunning, too, if i do say so myself. why don’t you show me more of that later?” with that double-edged statement, the boy swept himself away to a huddle of males where he immediately got immersed in their conversation, as if hinata and him had never talked at all. the orange-head was led into a room. “it’ll be perfectly legal. not that we were planning to do anything illegal.” that wasn’t exactly reassuring.

the tireless tick of the clock could be heard during lulls in the tedious conversations between atsumu and some of the newer initiates which had arrived. by now, hinata just wanted the thing to be over. he didn’t care what it was. merely being in the house had tired him out, even the fact that it was almost six in the morning didn’t bother him. “ _hinata_.” the boy looked up tiredly. “don’t look so glum, it makes your pretty face look old.” atsumu pulled him up. “after all, you’re up.” “ _i’m up-?_ ” hinata asked. god, at least i can go home after this.

in this room, ere yet the door was opened, proceeded a low and heady strain of vocal music. it was in a different language, foreign to hinata. “hinata shoyou," called a young man with curly hair in the back of the room, "step up here. and close the door behind you." the orange-head did so with caution, and approached the small adytum-reminiscent sanctum. “take off your shirt.” “ _my shirt-?_ ” hinata glanced to atsumu, who gave a nod.

the boy, reluctant at first, began to strip, slowly, lurching into himself as if embarrassed to show his bare, pale skin to the assemblage. “don’t be shy. straighten up.” another boy said, but there was a whisper of challenge in his brogue. this really was some kind of cult. _was this legal? were they going to cut him?_ who would’ve thought that atsumu was ever involved in something as bizarre this?

the boy was now bare-chested, standing sheepishly like a lost calf in the center of the room. it was barely lit but hinata could see a table set up before a moth-bitten curtain, with red candles prominently visible. “over here.” a voice called, and hinata obeyed acquiescently. by now, the orange-head saw just how many people were in the small room. there were at least five men, hooded- with their eyes barely visible, like monks.

“by joining us, you accept that your body will be available at all times we request. at our, and any of our members’ beck and call?” hinata felt a lump forming in his throat- a salty, muscular frog crawling up his gullet, slipping and sliding. “i-” atsumu shot the boy a look; a sharp, cold look, one that hinata had never seen on him before. “o-ok.” one of the men harshly grabbed hinata’s wrist, yanking the boy towards the assemblage. “ _hey_ -!”

* * *

the floor was cold and hard against hinata’s bare knees as he was flung to the floor. his arms burned to the marrow when a cold hand clasped his arm and pulled his upwards again. his senses were flying, like a drunkard’s. “he’ll be numb soon.” a voice said, but it was muffled and distorted in hinata’s sluggish ears. then he passed out.

a blindfold was tight around his head and his hair was plastered- sweaty and damp, around his face and neck. this is hell, what have i gotten myself into? hinata tried moving, but much to his horror, he felt a damp, light slap of skin against his inner thigh. was he naked? he was naked, wasn’t he? hinata’s hands trembled and his eyes watered through the thin linen of his blindfold, the fabric dampening with sweat and saline. the boy moved; his arms seemed to be tied behind him. loosely, but tight enough that he could feel the effects of the burning his skin made with the friction of the cloth that twisted around his arms. hinata moved, his hip colliding into something behind him. and that something was anything but good. the boy’s body felt hot, prickling upwards. his breath quickened as he heard the creaking of a door and suddenly, as quickly as there was noise, everything fell silent.

the orange-head felt the throbbing of his own eyes. ringing wails of nothing vibrated in his ears, as if everything were heightened. he could even feel the ebb and pounding of his heart as it throbbed. his fingers curled into a fist, nails digging into his palm. he couldn’t even hear his own breathing, but he could feel the biting air swamping in and out of his cramped lungs. “ _hinata_.” fear paralyzed his guts, churning my stomach in tense cramps. atsumu’s hoarse voice sounded different. it sounded bitter and machiavellian. brambles of dread prodded at hinata’s gullet. he couldn’t even bring himself to say anything. of course, hinata knew something strange would happen-- but never something as grim as this. atsumu had told him he was an artisan. an effete people's lover. hinata had laughed. he thought he’d meant it in a charming, aesthetic way. a people lover, a humanitarian. it was almost funny, hinata would have laughed but his lungs stung. how could anyone have ever thought that someone like atsumu was ever as twisted as this. it all clicked. when suna had asked if hinata was a masochist. but damn atsumu was handsome, part of him thought that even with the knowledge of his true self, he still would’ve agreed back then. with those narrow eyes thin lips. hinata thought he’d hit the jackpot. that was before all this, of course. rejecting atsumu before was one of the biggest regrets hinata had ever made, he still thought about if he had accepted his feelings. maybe this all would never have happened. hinata snapped out of his muse upon hearing the sharp heel strikes of shoes against cold stone floor. he was here. “i hope you understand. this is all part of the initiation. it’ll be over soon. you overslept; i think the punch was a bit too potent.” he bent down, and hinata felt his spine involuntarily straighten at atsumu’s presence

“oh? what’s this? are you horny? _by this?_ are you a fucking slut?” hinata’s breath caught in the base of his throat. never had atsumu ever talked like that. with such degrading words. hinata could feel the heat of the older male’s calculating gaze on him. suddenly, a strike collided with his face. hinata yelled out in pain at the sudden movement. the shock ricocheted up his skeleton, which was almost all that was left of his gaunt frame. “they’ll be here soon. just getting ready. they haven’t had a boy in years. the last one died.” atsumu rumbled, voice gruff and grating. hinata felt a retch forming in his gullet. “ _kidding_.” there was a bony creak and then rancidly sweet breath fanned over hinata’s cheek, stinging at his ear. “its all your fault. you got yourself here. if only you weren’t so fucking pathetic and could speak for yourself. i guess that’s what’s i love about you. so keep doing that, alright? not talking. your voice is annoying. its all high and squeaky. like a girl’s. and i hate girls. that’s why i fuck them. till they can’t fucking breath.” atsumu leaned back and hinata felt his spine relax slightly. “oh. look. _they’re here_.”

hinata dreaded what was next. powerful hands closed around hinata’s weak, gaunt upper arms and soon he was yanked to his feet, moving quite sluggishly in one place. he felt like he was about to retch everywhere. someone shoved hinata, and he felt the coldness of a wall collide into his cheek. the boy felt a very, very naked––and very, very hard object shadow over his trembling figure. his eyes widened within the cloth over his face. i can’t do this. i can’t do this. i can’t do th–– “go on, slut,” a voice ordered. all of hinata’s thoughts were skewered into flabby oblivion as a stout finger began rummaging over his skin. “you’re not wet, not at all prepared––do i not turn you on? am i not _good_ _enough?_ i thought fags liked dick. any dick.” the thick voice got more and more angry. he seemed angry at himself, but took it out on the boy.

hinata wobbled, kneecaps steadying themselves on the walls. the male got both hands around hinata’s hips. he shrieked but it was immediately countered by a cold, biting slap. “ _didn’t i tell you not to use your voice?_ ” it was atsumu, in front of him. “it was going well till you spoke. _shut the fuck up_.” his tone was colder than ever and hinata felt like stabbing himself in the gut.

he winced, teeth gnashed through the searing stretch as the male behind him pulled hinata’s hips down. hinata didn’t know much about sex, and even less about homosexual sex, but he knew one thing for sure. that it had to hurt the man too; but his pain would be short-lived. hinata was going to bleed soon. the penetration was too raw. too unprepared. hinata retched internally at the thought that he was about to bleed for someone he couldn’t even see, much less, _without consent._

_this was rape._ hinata immediately regretted telling himself that. he felt the vile swamps of nausea scaling up his liver. he knew something even worse would happen if he were to retch everywhere right now, so the boy held it in, held the acrid, lumpy contents of his stomach hauled at the back of his throat. his eyes welded tighter into his skin, till his head ached, short nails dug into the heat of his palms as hinata felt his walls painfully shift around the older male’s length. hinata bit his tongue to keep in the retching–– he didn’t feel any pleasure. only pain, dread, and disgust.

a hand cracked against the soft flesh of hinata’s rear. “move, bitch.” hinata felt tears form at the corners of his eyes. what was this? when he thought about making love, he expected it to be warm. warm and gentle. not this. not this. the male wanted hinata to start the motion, to inflict the pain upon himself before taking back control. the orange-head’s thighs stretched apart as he attempted to lift himself, and his bone-dry opening remained closed and protesting. the male wailed in pain, pulling out and slamming hinata’s back. hinata could feel the man stumbling away. “you stupid _fuck_!” atsumu made his entrance this time. he bent down. “that’s not how you treat men.” he slapped hinata’s rear again, sending a rash of nerves up the boy’s spine. _was he not a man?_ “you move, slow and careful, for several long minutes. that’s how you do it.” atsumu tutted, irately. “i don’t know how… _how_.” hinata stammered. there were layers of silence upon silence. hinata could feel the shadow of a presaged crash, but it never came. “oh. i assume you want a loving partner to pop your little cherry with. someone you trust. someone you’d do anything for. no?” atsumu asked. hinata was too afraid to reply, but he mustered an unsteady nod. “then,” atsumu began. “ _why don’t i do it?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what is the purpose of this horribly written and late chapter, you ask?
> 
> it's just a small, summarised (ish) chapter to enlighten you on hinata's past, which will play a significant role in the upcoming chapter(s). i absolutely hated this chapter but i guess even being a writer is a horrible burden, since hinata is one of my most adored characters and i would brutally murder anyone who did anything to him, but i guess you'll have to read the next chapter to find out what happens [kokichi smirking face.]


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